


Nothing is the same

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Awkwardness, BAMF John, Child Abuse, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Love, Multi, Parent!lock, Post Reichenbach, Sexual Content, consulting husbands, mentions of mormor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-26
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-06 15:19:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/737151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John often worried after Sherlock returned that nothing would ever be the same between them. Thankfully, he was right. Before they weren't happily married with a five year old son. But can this new dream life be spared of complications?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Then and Now

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own BBC's Sherlock or any of its characters. I'm just playing house with them. :) First chapter from John's POV. May or may not change through out the rest of the series.

Back then you would trounce about the flat in nothing but a bed sheet, deducing crime scenes from your computer. Now you sprint on your heels after our boy, insistent that you can't fathom why he can't just keep his damned clothes on. After all he just looks so precious and dignified in the clothes that his uncle Mycroft got for him last week. You're absolutely right, though it's difficult to deny how remarkably like you he is. You try to rationalize with him why he should be wearing clothes. God you're rationalizing with a five year old. All the same Hamish reciprocates your logic with his own. "Why should I?" he argues, "It's boring. It isn't as if I'm going anywhere." I can see that you aren't sure how to respond to that because you once told me that the majority of the reason we even wear clothes is to abide by what is socially acceptable, and you found my nakedness perfectly acceptable therefore there was no need to put on pants or get out of bed that day. 

The clock chimes twelve and a grin bisects your beautiful face. You turn on your heels towards the kitchen, much cleaner than it was before all of this started. Hamish is immediately curious peering from behind the arm of the couch. Without checking to see if he's watching, you proceed to put a skillet on the stove and drop butter into it. Next you're placing bread onto a plate, buttering each side. It's when you open the fridge to retrieve the cheese that our little one finally realizes what it is you're doing. He patters into the kitchen with his tiny little feet, he's staring up at you with those eyes that are an impossible color. You let the sandwich down onto the skillet with a satisfying sizzle before finally attending to his expectant gaze.

"No shirt. No trousers. No service" you told him blankly. His eyes sank into the floor before looking back up into your face half shielded by those inky curls.

"That's not how the phrase goes daddy" he folded his arms in front of his bare chest. You smiled slyly.

"I'm the chef. It's my kitchen. The phrase goes which ever way I like." This time it was you folded your arms over your neatly pressed purple shirt.

Hamish huffs audibly stomping his feet all the way up the stairs to his bedroom, the room that used to be mine. I'm sure you didn't think that I saw you smiling that smug, victorious smile but I did. You finished making our stubborn little boy's favorite meal laying it neatly out on the kitchen table. Grilled cheese (cut into four triangles), celery sticks, and juice (apple). You leaned up against the refrigerator with your arms still crossed staring expectantly up at the stairs. 

Hamish skips dangerously down the stairs with a long, black, familiar cape breezing behind him. It's his Halloween costume from last year. He demanded that he be allowed to go as Dracula. Regardless of this costume adornment clearly intended to peeve you, you look satisfied and pull a chair out for him at the kitchen table. Back then you were impatient, but as a parent you've learnt to take the small victories as they come. 

I'm not sure if this is something that's changed about you. I feel like you've always done something like this before but it's so much different now. After lunch you tell Hamish to adorn his shoes and jacket. It's sunny out and you offer that we should go to the park. I appreciate that you want our son to grow up unafraid to be an individual but I scoop him up anyway an take him up the stairs to find something proper to wear. I put him in a long sleeve green shirt and black trousers. I've always rather liked the color green on him. Taking us to the park isn't what I am addressing though. It's what happens when we get to the park.

Hamish is showing you how far along on the monkey bars he can get on his own before requiring your assistance as I watch from a bench. I never tire of watching you interact with our son. You who was always so bored with the domestic world are so impressed with the tiny feats our boy comes to grasp. A woman sitting on the bench near mine looks up from her book and we start to chat mostly about the weather and about romantic literature. Domestic things that wives would exchange whilst watching their children share a play-date. I ask her if she has a child. It may be good for Hamish to meet some new people, especially since he is starting school soon. Before she has a chance to respond I can feel your arms snaking around my waist from beside me. Your left hand reaches awkwardly for mine. Your pressing our intertwined fingers up to my chest. Our wedding bands clang together audibly. "Hello. Mr. Holmes-Watson." You introduce yourself.

I strictly remember what you were like when I would bring women back to the flat before this entire mess started. You were never very accommodating, but I understood that to be because you felt they distracted me from our work, from admiring your brilliance. This interference if for a different reason entirely. You are jealous that this strange woman is chatting me up. She's only slightly phased though. She smiles and introduces her as a Smith or Jones or whatever. She tells me that she has a daughter in the third grade and not so casually raises her left hand, adorning a rather large engagement ring to her face to push a strand of hair behind her ear. I can feel you smiling with satisfaction against my ear. You let out a small breath and kiss me on the cheek before running back to Hamish who has just taken his third trip down the large green slide. I'm always telling him that he isn't ready for the big slide but he's stubborn. Thinks he's bloody indestructible. Maybe I'm just afraid of heights. He is definitely your son.

You never used to dumb anything down for anyone. You would make your brilliant deductions and turn to me to translate between you and all of the puzzled faces around us. Tonight upon reading Hamish a bedtime story I find you much like Lemony Snicket defining every four to six syllable word that's leaving Hamish baffled. He's starting to fall asleep clutching to your shirt as you ramble on the last of the story in that deep, velvety voice of yours. You kiss him atop his little brunette head and tell him goodnight. "I love you Daddy. I love you Papa." he yawns turning over on his side away from the door. Slowly, quietly we back out of the room. You used to play the violin at ungodly hours, as a parent you'll do anything to get Hamish to sleep through a night. 

We are still light-footed as we get down the stairs into the sitting room. You throw an arm around my waist and your free hand cups my face. You never used to touch me like that, but come to think of it, you have always looked at me like that. I wonder why I didn't make a move sooner. Your lips find mine softly at first but after a few languid kisses your lapping at my mouth and you have me panting. You pull me into our bedroom, the one that used to be yours alone, that used to be practically empty and hardly slept in. There is a new sense of warmth to it since this whole new life started, since you came back from the dead and brought me back with you. 

You used to seem so utterly unaffected by all things of a sexual nature. Now you can hardly keep your hands off me and make it a point to bed me whenever you can. You pull me down on top of you on our bed, it was only ever sort of your bed before then. My fingers are working impatiently at the buttons of your ridiculously expensive shirt while you mouth at that spot on my neck you know that I like. Your tongue darts out at the juncture of my neck and my shoulder before your pushing me back desperately pulling my shirt over my head. You throw it and it catches on the door handle. Your mouth is on the gunshot wound in my shoulder and I've finally succeeded in pushing that pretentious article of clothing off of your shoulders. My hands search your smooth milky chest, I find myself pinching one of those sensitive pink nubs between my fingers and you're gasping. 

Sometime between removing your trousers and you taking me into your mouth I lose count of what's going on. Only you know how to make me short circuit like this. Your passing me lube from our bed side drawer and instinctively I am slicking up my fingers and preparing for you. You moan out my name as I open you and press agonizingly gently against your prostate. Between your nails digging into back and the pitiful gasps and moans we're sharing I can't control myself anymore. I let myself sink into you completely. Your hair is in my fist and I'm holding your mouth up to mine like an oxygen mask. I set into a rhythm and you're practically sobbing out obscene words. You never really used to curse like that, but that's what makes it so incredibly sexy. It feels like you're praying to me when you tell me that you're about to come before doing so all over my stomach and yours. I follow you over the edge and collapse by your side after a considerable amount of time riding out the earth shattering waves of pleasure that rip through me. You lick me clean and I nearly get hard for you again.

Weights are pulling at my eyes though. I hold you to my chest and taking a deep breath you begin to fall asleep. You never used to sleep, not that I really knew of. I'm thanking God that this is my life now. Our life.


	2. Firsts yet to be had

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish Holmes-Watson starts his first day of school. Will our Baker Street dads be able to handle this one?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going from Sherlock's POV this time because I think it will be fun to see him deal with this critical point in parenthood. :D Enjoy!

I touch your little shoulder lightly and you let out a groan. You simply aren't ready to stop dreaming yet. I brush the mop of brown curls John won't let me cut, out of your face and leave a small kiss there trying to call you from your unconscious adventures. It's time for Hamish to return to the real world. Today is a very significant day. Today is the day that Hamish embarks to earn an education. I am certain that I could just keep you at home and teach you everything you could possibly need to know and you would triumph over your schooled counter-parts but John insisted that I allow you to go to school 'to fill the gaps that I cannot.' It is so much like John to resurface my disregard for the principles of the solar system as important. It simply isn't. I was thoroughly convinced when John told me that it was a means for me to continue working. Oh Hamish, your uncle Lestrade doesn't want to admit it, but he needs my help. You stretch yourself across the length of your bed and your eyes flutter open. John and I are constantly arguing about those eyes. I think they are blue but in the right light he swears they are gold. Secretly I agree. Don't tell your papa, Hamish. Okay?

"Good morning" I say quietly. You are looking up at me but it's more like your looking through me for the first few seconds. "Today is your first day dear."

"Dun wanna go" you protest. I want you to remember that I didn't really want you to go either. If it were up to me, I would have taken you to Bart's that day to watch an autopsy. We could have run tests on some fingers your auntie Molly would most certainly give me and then eat crisps. I am not sure if I am frowning at you or smiling at you. I am nearly positive that I am managing both at the same time.

"You have to." I will not let on that I would allow you to stay home if I could. Parents are not supposed to contradict one another. I never thought that information would store itself in my mind palace, but sitting bedside with you, hearing John stir under our feet, it seems like it has always belonged there. "It's the law. Besides, it will be fun." It feels very much like I am lying, but I'm certain that this is based solely on my experiences in school. You are John's son. You are almost certain to get along better than I ever had. 

"I'm scared. And I'm gonna miss you and papa" you complain trying to pull the covers over your head. I hold them firm in my hand and you tug impatiently. "Wanna stay in my foxhole." I am glad John didn't hear this. He may not like you pretending to be at war, even if it's just a small war with the prospect of going to school for the first time. My hands leave your coverings and sneak their way under your arms. You fall into a fit of giggles. I used to think that tickling was such an odd practice. I couldn't fathom it. Now it is a powerful weapon. I scoop you into my arms and hold you there on my lap, letting you adjust before I have to make you get dressed. You hold onto my shirt. I like to think you appreciate that I'm giving you a little more time before this becomes real. 

John, your papa, is at the door while I'm still holding you. He gives me a look that says 'Sherlock-you-are-babying-him-again.' I always thought that I would be the one administering those looks when you came into our lives. Regardless of his attempts to be the stronger parent in this situation he sits beside us on your bed and we both just hold you like that for awhile. He scoops you out of my arms and I feel like protesting but I know that it is time for you to get ready for school. It would all be starting very soon. There is a knot in my stomach. I'm not hungry. What is this? Paternal feelings. Great.

Your papa likes to see me in purple and for some odd reason he's fond of you in green. Together we are a singing dinosaur. I don't argue though as he pulls your very favorite green shirt over your head and then khakis over your legs. He applies a jacket to your person and hands you your lunch bag while I assist you with your shoes. "Remember what we told you to tell the teacher?" he asks sternly.

You look him straight in the eyes with pride on your face. "Hello. My name is Hamish Holmes-Watson. I am allergic to peanuts." You aren't parroting a lesson. You know why you cannot have peanuts. I'm proud of your precautions. 

"Very good." John smiles at you. "Remember that Daddy and I will come get you outside of the school. Do not leave the sight of an adult that works there and do not leave with anyone that you don't know. Do you understand?" 

"Yessir!" You exclaim very seriously raising your hand to salute. John frowns a small frown at this but pulls you into a hug nonetheless. He doesn't look like he wants to let go. I wrap my arms around the both of you and I think that gives him the bravery to take a very deep breath and let go. He pulls your knapsack over your shoulders. 

"Just one more thing." He is smiling now as he goes into the kitchen to retrieve the camera from the kitchen counter. 

"Say dead bodies," I smile wide. Before John has time to shoot me the 'now-you're-treating-him-too-much-like-an-adult' gaze, you say it happily and realizing it's futile he snaps the photo. 

We walk you to school on either side of you. We hold your hands the entire way. Under your duress we walk you into your classroom, apparently this is entirely commonplace for parents of first-time students, as your teacher is there to greet us with a smile. She's a decent looking young blonde woman. She extends her hand to us and introduces herself as Miss Reilly, a familiar name.

"Hello. I am Hamish Holmes-Watson and I am allergic to peanuts" you tell her obediently. John is absolutely beaming though it is short lived. "This lady knows Auntie Molly!" you interject very suddenly.

"How could you possibly know that?" your papa asks stupidly. You are half mine. He already knows he shouldn't indulge your more improper deductions.

"On the collar of her shirt! That's the same lip stuff that Auntie Molly wears!" Miss Reilly quickly attempts to smudge the pink stain off of the collar of her white blouse. A flush fills her cheeks.

"That doesn't mean it's Aunt Molly's." John offered stupidly.

"No it's gotta be," you continue "She smells like Auntie Molly's perfume and that's Auntie Molly's bracelet! I've seen her wear it!"

"That doesn't mean-" John tries to stop you.

"It's an heirloom" I finally settle the argument. There is a pause that I must imagine feels very awkward for John and your teacher. "I'm sorry. Molly Hooper is a dear friend of ours. I work with her actually." I extend a hand to her in hopes to reconcile on your behalf. 

"Of course, that Holmes," she mutters under her breath trying to collect herself. "It's a pleasure to meet you both and a pleasure to have Hamish in our class. I assure you we're going to have a great time." She is assuring the both of us Hamish, because neither of us is very sure about it. She tells you that you could put your things in a cubby at the far right of the room and you oblige before returning to us.

John bends down then to tell you something in your ear. I am sure it's something along the lines of 'please don't do that it again. It offends people. You should only deduce nice things about people.' It's so very like your papa to try to instill social graces into your character. I am grateful to him for that. Both of us kiss you goodbye and when we leave you are talking to a pretty young girl with red hair, playing with building blocks. She doesn't seem offended by you at all. I know you will do fine here Hamish. 

After that I go to see your Aunt Molly and inform her of the little deduction you made in class today. Unlike your teacher, she finds this rather amusing. Your Auntie Molly is pretty serious about this woman but you already deduced that since she is allowing her to wear a precious family heirloom to classes. Your teacher's first name is Amanda. Your teacher's sister's name is Kitty. That is why her last name was so familiar to me. I'm pretty busy trying to examine the body on the slab but Molly goes on about your teacher. She tells me things that I won't divulge to you because it won't serve any positive purpose to you to know how flexible or insatiable Miss Reilly is. I apologise for that. Good news though, the murderer is female. It's always a little more interesting when crimes of this calibur are performed by females.

John and I meet halfway to your school and walk there hand in hand. Both of us are very anxious to see you again, to ask you about your day, to ask you if you were able to read the notes we left in your lunch bag. John wants to know if you've made any new friends. I want to know what you learned about. When we get there you are standing at the door next to Miss Reilly. Her arms are crossed in front of her and her lips are pursed tightly together when she spots us. You have a yellow plaster on your knee. You must have informed her that yellow is your real favorite color. Already my heart swells with panic. 

"Your son got into a bit of an altercation with another boy today," she begins. I am already resentful of her for starting off by addressing you with such a distancing term. 'Your son.' Your name is Hamish. Your name is Hamish Holmes-Watson and any altercation that a Holmes-Watson gets themselves into must be for a good reason. "He told the other boy that his parents were getting a divorce." John promises to handle it and takes your hand. I take your other one and as we walk away I briefly consider slapping your father upside the head for not defending you. Paternal feelings.

"Hamish, I've told you that you can't deduce not-nice-things about people. It isn't polite." John huffs. I very plainly roll my eyes at that.

"I was trying to say something nice!" you stomp a foot trying to be heard. "He takes really good care of his 3 year old sister when his parents fight. She lets him draw on his hand with marker and sings her songs. His voice was hoarse. I wanted him to know he's a good big brother." I melted a little at that. So interesting of you to try and use your deductive skills for good. 

"Well perhaps you should have started with that rather than telling him that his parents were getting a divorce. That kind of thing makes people sad" I inform you smiling. I want you to know that I believe in what you were trying to do. John shares a look of understanding with me and we both tell you that we love you.

"I'm really glad you two still love each other" you say sympathetically. Your grasp on empathy astounds me. I could not be more proud of you my son.

When we get home we sit you down to have a banana and together John and I read the notes left for us in the folder the teacher has tucked into your knapsack. A small notation says that you were a pleasure to have as a student. The words 'very bright' were used more than once. I find it somewhere deep within me to forgive Miss Reilly for the earlier transgression. I think that if she comes to understand you she can help you learn to keep using your wits for good things.

"I made a new friend. Her name is Abigail and she likes bees and she likes to dance" you inform your proud papa. You know that he needs to know that you're getting along well with other classmates. I don't know if I should be worried that you do so well to deduce the two of us. Potentially dangerous in the future. I don't want to think about your teenage years. 

Your uncle Greg calls me on my mobile. According to the pattern the murderer we're investigating should strike again tonight at a popular pub. He wants me to attend. I kiss you and your papa goodbye. I cannot promise that I will be home in time to tuck you in and for the first time that worries me. How soon until you are too old to tuck into bed?


	3. Are we human? Or are we dancers?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock hoped that if they didn't talk about it, Hamish would come to understand that all people and all love is equal. However between all of the relationships in Hamish's life being gay and the gender expectations held by his class-mates, it looks like this conversation is definitely going to happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Experimenting with Hamish's point of view this time. :D
> 
> Also I hope that this POV thing isn't getting too confusing seeing as John and Sherlock address their thoughts almost like letters to someone else. To clear this up: for the most part John's thoughts address Sherlock because he's noting the changes in Sherlock's character while Sherlock's thoughts address Hamish because he is the newest entity in his life. Hamish however will tend to address the audience. 
> 
> Do enjoy. Feel free to comment and leave kudos. :D

Hello! My name is Hamish Holmes-Watson and I'm allergic to peanuts! I live at 221B Baker Street with my dads, Dr. John Holmes-Watson and Mr. Sherlock Holmes-Watson. Papa said it's really important to remember all that so that if I ever get lost, I can tell an adult and they can bring me back to him and Daddy (and also not give me peanuts along the way or something). 

Papa and Daddy are always telling me things that are really important for me to remember to stay safe. Papa tells me to look both ways before I cross the street because one time he and daddy didn't do that and they almost got hit by a bus. Papa also tells me not to stand in high places because I could fall and Daddy did that once and he got hurt and had to go away for a really long time. Sometimes he and Daddy still fight about that. Even Daddy isn't supposed to break the rules. For example, Daddy used to smoke and that's not good because smoking causes cancer so Papa made him stop. I'm never to smoke ever. I don't even want to, smoking smells gross. I'm not supposed to go with strangers because they might hurt me; I'm only to go with police men and other people like that if I get lost or something. My Uncle Greg is a police man and when I tell that to strangers who try to talk to me they usually go away. They don't want to go to jail for hurting me I think. I'm not supposed to run with sharp things (Daddy does not always follow this rule). 

There are a lot of rules that I'm supposed to remember but sometimes Papa and Daddy tell me things to remember that are not necessarily rules. Today Daddy and Papa told me something very important but it wasn't a rule. It was just a fact about people. Daddy knows a lot about people and he only remembers important things and that is why I know what they told me is important. 

They told me what they did because I told them about what happened at school today. I have been going to school for about three days now. Sometimes it is fun and sometimes it is not. Today was one of the not fun days. 

It started just like yesterday and the day before that. Daddy woke me up and helped me to get dressed while Papa made my lunch downstairs. They both walked me to school together. We looked both ways before crossing the streets. When we reached the school they both kissed me goodbye and I put my stuff in my cubby and sat at my table next to Abigail. Abigail is my best friend in the whole class because she is nicer to me than anyone else. We have what is called morning work and sometimes Abigail needs me to help her read what's on her paper. Even though she doesn't know everything I think she's really smart because she gets all of the maths right. I'm not very good at maths but Abigail explains it to me and it gets easier. Together we are probably the smartest kids in the whole class. 

Today we had a spelling test that I think I did really well on. Abigail wasn't very happy about it though. I put a hand on her shoulder and told her it was okay. Then we did art and I colored a picture of her to make her feel better. Abigail is a pretty girl with brown hair like mine but it isn't curly and it's very long. Her face has a lot of freckles on it because she's outside a lot. Daddy taught me that freckles come from being in the sun. Abigail is in the sun a lot because she plays at a sport. In football you have to run a lot outside and try and kick a ball into a goal. It is Abigail's favorite game other than dancing. Abigail says she goes to play football on Wednesdays and Fridays and dances something called ballet on Tuesdays. Tuesday was yesterday so she danced ballet. Abigail is very busy I think. She liked my picture a lot. She didn't draw a picture of me, she drew a rabbit, but that's okay because I didn't need to be cheered up. 

At lunch Abigail (she tells me to call her Abby) usually share what is in our lunch bags. I let her try a piece of my turkey sandwich, but Abby always has peanut butter and jelly sandwiches so I am not allowed to share with her. She lets me share her carrots though. I like carrots. Carrots are good for your eyesight. Today Daddy left me a note that said 'You are exceptional. Love Daddy.' Abby asked me to read it for her and got a funny look on her face.

"What does Egg-sept-shun-all mean?" she asked. I told her that it meant that I was really good and she smiled at that. Even though Abby isn't always good at reading and spelling she loves the vocabulary lessons we take at school. She likes to learn new words and use them. She says it really impresses her mum and dad. I wasn't really sure how someone could have a mum and a dad, but I didn't ask about it because it was probably impolite and Daddy says I need to be more careful about not hurting others feelings. 

Then it was time to play outside. That is where you go out of the classroom and onto a playground behind the school to play games with your friends or go down the slide. I usually just play pirates or something with Abby. Today she told me that she learned new things in her ballet class and she wanted to show me. I never went to a dance class before but I've seen people dance and it looks like a lot of fun. We just sort of bent and twirled around for a little bit. All of the moves had french names that I couldn't remember but she smiled and I seemed to be doing it right. Then the bad part of the day happened. 

A boy in my class named Timothy who is bigger than me came and pushed me down. He told me that I shouldn't dance because only girls dance and boys aren't supposed to. Abby got really mad at him and yelled at him to go away but I thought he was just trying to help me understand what the rules are, like Papa and Daddy do when I'm accidentally being rude. I apologised to Abby for getting her in trouble with Timothy and I thought about teaching her how to do ninja kicks, which are kind of like ballet kicks, but I started to wonder if that was against the rules too. I offered to push her on the swing and she let me. After that we went inside for what is called nap-time, but that is not important information. 

After nap-time was over I got my things from my cubby and waited outside of the school for Papa and Daddy to pick me up. Abby was waiting for her mum and she let me hold her hand for awhile. Today Abby was supposed to go play football, but I was starting to wonder if she was even allowed to do that. Both her mum and dad came to get her and they walked home the same way Daddy and Papa do with me and I felt a little uncomfortable. I worried that her family was all mixed up because she had both a mum and dad and played at sports. Soon enough Daddy and Papa were at the school to pick me up and that made me feel better.

When we got home I sat at the table and ate some celery sticks while Daddy helped me with my homework. Daddy is really good at maths so my homework is always right. Miss Reilly is really proud of my homework. That is when I decided to ask about the new rules, because I know these kind of things are okay to talk about with Daddy and Papa. I asked them why boys aren't allowed to dance and if girls are also not supposed to play at sports. They got really surprised at me and asked me where I got such an idea. 

"Today Abby taught me how to dance ballet but then Timothy told me I wasn't allowed because I was a boy." I said. I left out the part where Timothy pushed me down because I didn't want Timothy to get in trouble for trying to teach me the rules. Daddy looked very upset and Papa just looked sat. They both sat beside me and put their hands on my shoulders.

"Boys are allowed to do whatever makes them happy and so are girls dear." Papa told me. "If your friend Abby wants to play sports she can and if you wanted to dance ballet you could. Is that what you want to do?" he asked me.

"It was fun to learn but kind of confusing. I don't think it's something I'd want to go do every Tuesday." I told them. Papa kind of smiled at that. I was glad that it wasn't against the rules for Abby to play football. She really likes to play football. I decided that it would be a good time to ask about Abby's parents. That surprised them even more. "I don't understand. It's just that You and Daddy love each other and Uncle Mycroft loves Uncle Greg and Auntie Molly is dating Miss Reilly. Are boys supposed to like girls?" I asked. I remembered holding Abby's hand and I began to worry I had broken another rule by liking her so much. 

"Men and women can be in love too. Your uncle Greg used to be married to a woman and Papa used to date women before we fell in love and got married." Daddy explained. I was still confused though.

"But Uncle Greg isn't with a woman. He's married to Uncle Mycroft. And you and Papa are supposed to be together, he's not supposed to be with some woman." I pointed out. It didn't seem to me like a man and a woman could be happy together.

"Well, Abby's parents are very happy together and they love her very much," Papa started to explain, "And my Mum and Dad, your Grandma and Grandfather loved each other forever." I smiled at that. I had forgotten about all that. There was a question still bothering me though.

"Would you and Daddy be mad at me if I married a girl?" I asked. I felt like I was going to cry. I was worried that they would be mad at me just for asking.

"Of course we would." Daddy said. "You're much too young to get married right now." I sobbed a little at that and he put his arms around me. "But someday when you're grown up, if you marry a woman, your papa and I will be so happy that you've found someone that you love." I smiled then. "It doesn't matter who you marry as long as they make you happy." He said that like it was one of the most important things I could ever know. Papa stretched over me and gave Daddy a kiss on the cheek. He looked like he was going to cry but the happy kind of tears. 

A while after that we had spaghetti for dinner and then ice cream for dessert. They both tucked me into bed and kissed me goodnight and I thought about how Abby's parents probably do the same thing for her, and that's good. I was really happy. I went to sleep.

The end.


	4. The Wedding Album

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish finds the old wedding album and asks for details from his dads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV again! Kind of a smutty-sweet chapter. The POV gets a little wonky as occasionally Sherlock takes a break from addressing Hamish in order to address John in his head. I'll try to make it easy to determine when. Enjoy!
> 
> Remember to leave comments and kudos if feel inclined to. :D Thank you for reading.

I'm examining a blood sample underneath a microscope when you crawl out from beneath your Papa's chair with a dusty tome in both of your hands. Beneath the heavy layer of dust I recognize it immediately and ponder the sentimentality related to John's decision to keep it under his chair. My heart does something that resembles swelling. It's a feeling of affection and nostalgia. John smiles at you sitting on the floor between his legs on the floor and peeling open the book. The spine cracks audibly with the crispness of not being looked through all too often. I abandon the specimen to and pull you up onto John's lap, I take a seat on an arm of the chair and examine the first page. It's only a picture of your Papa and I with our respective groomsmen. 

You smile and point eagerly at each person in the photograph. "That's you Daddy! And there's Papa! And There's Auntie Harry, Auntie Clara, Mr. Stamford, Auntie Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Uncle Mycroft, and Uncle Greg!" you say. "You're all dressed up," you point out remembering that this isn't attire we would normally wear.

"Well that's because these photos are of the day Daddy and I got married," John tells you kissing your head as you flip excitedly to the next page. This page is a series of photographs portraying Harry and Clara teasingly assisting John in readying for the ceremony. A flush crosses my cheeks as I observe the exposed flesh just beneath his untucked dress shirt. I remember something unsavory.

At this point, Hamish I implore you to cover your ears for I am speaking to your Papa now on a very personal and adult matter. Got them covered now? Good. 

Hello John. I see the way you're looking at this photo, caressing it with your fingers, and I just know that you're remembering what occurred roughly half an hour before it was taken. I'm relishing in it as well. I remember how ridiculously anxious we were that day. We had no idea how on earth we had let ourselves get pulled from having mapped out a civil ceremony in the courts to a wedding. I believe it was a mixture of Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft's protests to us simply eloping. Either way the pressures had gotten the better of us and here we were on our wedding day. 

I had requested some time alone much to the disgruntlement of my brother and the others which were supposed to accompany me down the aisle and stand at my side during the ceremony. I stood at the window for awhile just staring out at the blossoming trees and considering the weight of this commitment. I knew that I could give my entire life to you, but the whole ceremony just seemed extravagant. I wondered if I could just text you and convince you to run out with me. We would elope like we had always planned. But Mycroft had already payed for the event and he would never let me hear the end of it, even though it was he who insisted on paying in the first place. I didn't want this. I only wanted you. I heard a knock at the door. 

"I already told you I wanted a moment alone," I barked roughly. The door creaked open anyway and I saw you standing all lean muscle and black tie in the doorway. I couldn't hold back the grin that breached my cool detached demeanor. "You know it's bad luck to come see the bride before the wedding," I scolded. 

You smiled at me then. "You aren't a bride. You're a groom," you corrected me. Ridiculous notion that is, you correcting me.

"I believe the principles are the exact same. My family is paying for the wedding much like the traditional bride's dowry and I'm walking down the aisle second. That qualifies me as the bride." I strode over to you, pulling you in, closing the door behind you. I placed my hands on your shoulders. "Not to mention that I am the most common recipient during intercourse."

You became bashful then and snorted at the clerical remark. You placed your hands on my hips regardless, pulling me against your well-dressed torso. Your pupils dilated significantly. They were the color which they turn when you become hungry for me. "Yes. I suppose you're right," you agreed pliantly. You leaned in to kiss my lips but I stopped you. You cocked an eyebrow at me, your eyes almost whining now.

"No. I-I don't want to do that. Not until-" I struggled to articulate the thought.

"Not until the ceremony." I flushed at your acknowledgement of my inability to avoid being sentimental. "That's really sweet Sherlock." You turned us around and pressed my back against the door and locked it. Suddenly your lips were breezing on my neck just above the collar of my dress shirt. "There's so much I could do without kissing you on the lips," you purred against my skin as a hand untucked my shirt from my trousers. I arched into the love bites you were trailing along my pulse point. Your tongue slid to the juncture of my neck and shoulder as you unbuttoned the top buttons of my shirt to make room for more of your heating kisses. I pulled at your tie and unbuttoned your shirt until your chest was completely exposed to me. I pulled you closer. I needed to feel more of you because of its calming effect on me; you stilled and sped up my breathing all at once. I could feel you hard against my thigh and I let out a gasp. I tugged desperately at your belt buckle, popping it open and sliding it off your waist. You unzipped my trousers and pulled them down with my pants. I wrapped my legs around your waist as you hoisted me up the length of the door. My erection was bobbing painfully as you fondled my body. I positively needed to feel you. I needed you to pound the breath back into me and steady me so that I could walk down that aisle and wed you in front of everyone. I needed to be reminded what I was bonding myself to forever and ever from this day forward. 

You slid your hands up my sides and cupped my face in them. I feared for a moment that you would lapse into devouring my lips, but you took in a sharp breath and resisted the urge. Instead you pushed your index and middle finger onto my tongue (I hadn't realized that my mouth was agape, I was unaware entirely of my panting) and I took to the signal immediately. I closed my lips around your digits and sucked them thoroughly coated them in saliva. My cheeks hollowed around the heavy suction I applied whilst ghosting my tongue across the sensitive tips of your fingers. You let out a groan at that before pulling them out a long stream of saliva following them from my tongue. You were trying very hard to maintain control of yourself, I could tell. Your pulse was racing and your skin was quivering with gooseflesh the way it does before those positively marvelous words leave your mouth, 'I need you.' Before I could breathe you slipped your middle into me to the knuckle. The muscles there tensed but relaxed quickly, trusting your divine instinct. 

You continued to pump that finger in and out of me, occasionally curling it over the sensitive nerves there, making me bite my lip in a failed attempt to keep from crying out from pleasure. When you were sure, you inserted your index and scissored me open, teasing over my prostate making me breathless with want. Suddenly you stopped and I whimpered with protest just to find you pulling something from your pocket and placing it in between your teeth. It was a condom. You undid your fly and pulled your trousers and pants down to your knees. You opened the foil wrapper with your teeth, spitting the excess onto the floor. "You planned this," I hummed delighted.

"I may have thought of it," you attempted denial. You pulled the condom out of the wrapper and rolled it onto yourself before brushing against my entrance. My eyes grazed the clock on the far wall.

"We really don't have time for teasing John." I think I was laughing because you laughed a little too. You pushed into me agonizingly slowly until you were buried to the hilt. My head fell backwards against the door exposing the column of my throat to you as I adjusted around you. You kissed feather light on my adams apple as you pulled back, then you thrust into me roughly and with precision. I shuddered and groaned at the direct hit to my weakest spot. I could almost hear you smiling though I did not look at you. You kept your thrusts long and forceful as you kissed and nipped at my neck, my chin, and my cheeks. How I wanted to kiss you, how I wanted not to. My fingers tangled into your short blond hair as I bucked against you.

"Gonna marry you so hard," I heard you grunt as you lapped at my earlobe, and I couldn't help but collapse into a fit of short-breathed giggles. The laughter was short lived as you threw another heavy thrust into me and I was nearly lost. Stars were threatening me in my peripheral vision. I tugged at the hairs at the back of your neck and moaned your name as your thrusts became more hurried and shallow. 

"John. John! I'm going to-!" I began to warn you. You hastily pulled the scarlet handkerchief from the pocket of your jacket and pulled it taught over the head of my cock. Between the silk enveloping my sensitive glans and you pumping into me with exactness I spasmed hard against the wooden door pulling my chest into yours. My breaths became laboured moans that filled my ears and probably those of several passersby. It wasn't long until you followed me over the edge spilling into the condom and twitching inside my tight entrance. It felt so amazing. Soon after that you kissed me on my cheek and helped me to my feet and back into my pants and trousers. You sorted yourself out but still looked reasonably disheveled and very satisfied. Then you walked casually out of my dressing room and back to yours where the photograph was taken of Harry helping you reorganize your clothing properly. And that is the story of why there is a handkercheif in the pocket of my jacket in later photos but not in yours.

Hamish dear? You can uncover your ears now. I'm done talking to your father about the rather private matter. We can return to flipping leisurely through the wedding album and I promise the rest of the stories will be perfectly age appropriate. Now then. You're turning to the next page and naturally there are photos of me sitting on a white couch in my own dressing room and I am holding your Aunt Molly's hand confessing to her that this is probably the most terrifiying and wonderful day of my entire life. She looks sympathetic with her pouty pink lips and her red lips and her teary blue eyes. You ask me why she looks sad and I tell you that she's just happy for us but you're right. She was a little sad. I'm not entirely sure of the status of her feelings for me at that exact moment in time but as I recall it she was earnestly happy for me in her own way. Her greatest gift to me was always helping me achieve this relationship with John regardless of how much it hurt her. I owe your Auntie Molly so much. 

Next is the first photo of your Papa at the end of the aisle, in a chapel if you can believe it, with his sister Harry at his side, followed by Clara, then Mr. Stamford (a groomsmen primarily because he introduced us). Your papa is looking down at his fingers and your aunt Harry has her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Her other hand is wrapped in Clara's hand who is beaming happiness that she could truly enjoy such an event without fearing that Harry would get too drunk. The priest smiles at the people sitting in their pews. The photo nearly drags me back into that warm, dusty, chapel all littered with colorful stain-glass lighting. You ask why papa looks so nervous and he tells you it's because sometimes getting married makes people very nervous. You smile and tell him he shouldn't have been so nervous. Because marrying me was going to be a good thing. I smile at that. 

In another photo, Mycroft, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson are already situated at the right side of the altar. My back is visible and very plainly you can see your papa's face. It isn't something I observed before but his face is absolutely astounding. His hands are folded almost as if in prayer in front of his lips. Behind his hands a wide smile can be seen around the corners. His eyes are bright with tears. Right now he is smiling down with fondness and I reach an arm over his shoulders and squeeze. He looks up at me and mouths the words 'I love you so much.' I smile greedily and mouth 'I know.'

Next your papa and I are both at the end of the aisle all decorated with red rose petals and holding one another's hands and I can see what we saw then in the look in our eyes. I remember how the rest of the chapel seemed to disappear around us as your Papa cleared his throat to speak.

"Sherlock I have loved you and always will love you with every single fibre of my being," he said ever so predictably, but the tears now evacuating his eyes had my full attention. "I remember when we both nearly died in that swimming pool. I nearly gave my life for you Sherlock. I would have, in a heart beat and I still would. Because you found me when I was a miserable, half-hearted version of myself and brought me back to life. You made all of my nightmares, every little thing that haunted me vanish. You gave me a purpose again. You saw in me things the army no longer did, things I could no longer see in myself and I cannot thank you enough for that. You are the best man I have ever met, and I have spent a long time thinking that I waited such a long time for you to just come back to me from the dead, but I realise now that I have waited my entire life and I am done waiting. I'm keeping you around Sherlock. I am having you stand up here in a tux and giving you this ring and making you promise me that you will never leave me again because I don't think I can bear another second apart." He sounded kind of bitter, but I knew it was with the best of intentions. My heart melted, both from guilt and from joy that someone could love me this much. "I love you. I love you Sherlock. I love you." Your papa was choking on his own tears then and he nodded to signify the end of his lovely speech. He looked up at me for approval and then I could feel that I was crying too.

I hardly remember what I told your papa in return. I remember trembling. A lot. I told him that I never knew I could feel this way until I met him. I told him about the very moment I realised that I was in love with him (that very first night, after running through the streets of London and collapsing into a fit of laughter in the hall of our flat). I told him about how I never knew a greater pain then thinking that he could never love me back, until I had to endure the possibility of him choosing to never speak to me again after coming back from the dead. I told him that I didn't want to spend a night without him by my side and that I would in fact never leave his side again. I told him everything I planned to and everything that did not. Every miniscule emotion I ever endured on his behalf, that felt so small before suddenly felt immense and poured from my soul into that chapel. I could hear sobs from my side and the pews, pulling me from the romantic hypnosis I was in.

In the next photo we were exchanging rings. We explain to you that it's a traditional representation of the promise a married couple makes to always be together and to always love each other.

"Because circles never end!" You chime in gleefully. John tousles your hair and tells you that you are absolutely right, disregarding all historical associations with bloodlines and all that. 

Then there is the traditional photo of the tender kiss shared between the newlyweds. It couldn't be more perfect. We are cupping each other's faces in our hands so both our wedding bands are plainly visible in the photograph. Mycroft chose the photographer well. Then in the next photo we are walking down the aisles with standing, clapping, attendees at either side of us.

Dear, I'm going to need you to cover your ears again.

John, do you remember on the limo ride to the reception venue? How I sucked you off with great fervor, looking up at you with champagne dizzy eyes? I can see you flushing as I share a long knowing stare with you over our little Hamish's blissfully ignorant head. But you do remember the bliss of finally being able to kiss and grab desperately for one another as we struggled to make room for such acts in the back of that vehicle. You're coughing with discomfort now. Okay I am done.

Hamish you may uncover your ears again. On to the reception photos. They are really quite plain though. There's the photo of your papa forcing my face into the entire wedding cake while twisting his fingers into my curls. There's several photos of the first dance which you seem to take much glee in observing, having learnt that boys are indeed allowed to dance. Several more photos feature couples dancing and the ever boring line dances. You think it looks silly and I couldn't agree more. By the end of the album John and I are looking particularly sloshed and we close the book with our hands over yours. You smile up at us. You say you're really glad we decided to get married and start a family. 

After dinner we tuck you into bed and read you a few chapters from James and the Giant Peach. We both kiss you goodnight and climb down the stairs and go to retire in our bedroom. Your papa pulls me onto the bed and kisses me gently on the lips, nostalgia still dizzying his romantic head. Now Hamish, go to sleep. I'm going to spend a quality little honey-moon with Papa now.


	5. The Elder Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a visit from an acquaintance he made while traveling after Sherlock's "death".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV.
> 
> Brace yourselves, I'm actually adding plot. 
> 
> Loosely inspired by the song Tokyo (Vampires and Wolves) by The Wombats.

You're settled comfortably on the sofa holding Hamish in your arms as you two watch a documentary about bees that his friend Abigail recommended to him. The narration is a tad dull for my tastes so I'm working at updating the blog, which has gotten admittedly less exciting since our lives took such a domestic turn. Our internet following seems interested in the happenings of myself and my two best boys nonetheless and often I get requests to disclose the status of Hamish's school life. I try not to talk about him too much, I fear the child-exploiters out there. I don't want them getting their hands on photos of Hamish in the bath or sleeping or anything like that. There's a heavy knock at the door and I wonder who Mrs. Hudson has let in to see us. Must be Mycroft or Lestrade. Someone familiar that stops by on a frequent basis yes? I let myself decide that Lestrade must be coming to pick at your brilliant mind. I save the draft I'm working on and make my way to the door.

It is not Lestrade. It is not Mycroft, or Harry, or Molly, and it isn't Mrs. Hudson. I've never seen this small blond boy in my entire life. He looks to be about ten years old. I do however recognize the woman standing behind him. She's shorter than I am but several centimeters taller than the boy. She has shoulder-length brown hair and green eyes. She is a woman I met in travels. What was her name again? Maggie? Madison? Mary, I suddenly remember. That one week in Tokyo. 

"Hello Mary?" It's more of a question than anything else. "What brings you around my flat?" I ask. I can't imagine what a woman I spent a rather uneventful week with all those years ago would be doing at my doorstep. I hadn't seen her since two years after you jumped off that building. I remember how miserable I was then. I remember hobbling into that pub on my cane, I remember several shots of tequila, and I remember Mary's laughter. She couldn't stop laughing at how horrible I was at Japanese karaoke. She was a reporter there. She lived there. Had she gotten a job in London?

"Uh hey," she starts. The boy at her side moves cautiously behind her, peering at me from behind her hip. "I've been following your blog," she smiles nervously trying to force herself to just breathe. "I was in town and I thought I would stop in and see you," she said rather casually. 

"Oh well please come in. I'll pop the kettle on if you'd like" I say ushering the two of them inside. You look back from the couch at the odd couplet entering. "Sherlock, this is an old friend of mine. Mary Moran. Is it still Moran?" I ask. I'm not entirely sure but I think I see you shudder at her maiden name. Sometimes I feel like you know everyone.

"No. It's Morstan now." She shows me the wedding ring on her finger and I congratulate her. I'm certain it couldn't have been too much longer after we met that she found her spouse judging by the age of the boy she's with. I put the kettle on and smile back at her.

"Gosh, it's been ages. How have you been? What brings you to town?" I ask.

She takes a seat at the table in the kitchen, her son continues to stand with his hands on her shoulder. His posture is ramrod straight. He isn't keen to strangers I imagine. "Well my husband's found some work here and I thought it would be nice to get back to England," she tells me. I remember she was the only one in that entire city that could understand my accent with ease. "I've got a lot of family here and I thought it would be nice for Severin here to meet them. Unfortunately his one uncle was killed. Tragic. I really wanted to get them acquainted." She looks down at her fingernails, still reasonably wracked with grief. I tell her that it must be very difficult to lose a brother. I steal a glance at you and your shoulders look stiff. I chalk it up to your general social anxiety. "That's actually kind of what I wanted to talk to you about." She takes the teacup from my hand and lets herself indulge in a fairly long drink. 

Before she even says anything my head is already whirring. You have taught me to observe, and though I am not as good as you at the art I am fairly certain of my deduction here. Eleven years, I think. I was in Japan eleven years ago.

She holds the boy's hand in hers at her shoulder. "This is Severin Moran, and I'm fairly certain that he is your son." 

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. The first thought my head risks is, 'Why on earth are you saying this in front of my son!' but then I think, 'I have two sons. You are telling me this in front of both my sons. And my husband! What is this? Some kind of sick joke?' Her eyes do not leave mine though. There are tears. Mary is dead serious and everything around me has come to a screeching halt yet everything is spinning. I feel like I may throw up but I know that I can't. I hold my stomach as though my organs are about to fall out. I can hear your breathing become laboured and Hamish is calling for you. "Daddy? Daddy are you alright?" he's asking.

"Fairly certain?" I finally manage out. I curse myself for doubting her out loud. I must sound like a terrible person, but she looks sympathetic. I think she's sure I'm not one of those men, since I've got a family now. 

She nods. "Absolutely certain. You- you were the only one." She starts to sort of grip at her purse as though she's about to stand and leave. "Well anyway, his dad, my husband loves him very much. I just really thought you ought to know."

"Ten years," I blurt out painstakingly. It's effective though because she stops looking so intent on making an exit. "Ten years!" I bark out. I realise that I'm actually rather angry. My fists are balled. My left hand is trembling. "Christ, ten whole years. Ten whole birthdays." Suddenly my face feels wet and my breathing is heavy and difficult. I look desperately at the blond boy with my eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. God I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry," I sob. I definitely feel sick. I am no longer in control of myself. First the boy (Severin) backs away looking very fearfully but then he's holding the sleeve of my jumper between his fingers.

"Hey. It's okay John. It really is," he says. My heart aches miserably when he does. John. Christ what have I done? "Mummy and I lived really far away and she didn't know where you lived. It couldn't be helped." I can't fathom how logical his tone is. I'm not sure if it would hurt more if he was positively broken or that he in fact seems to feel nothing.

"I'm really sorry John." Mary is crying too now and I finally notice that you have taken Hamish up to his room and I am unsure if I am relieved or afraid. "Now that I'm back in London, living close, I would be more than happy to let you see him. It would be nice for him to get to know you." Severin nods in agreement though he looks nervous about the entire ordeal.

I wipe my tears trying to be strong. "And about child support-" I began.

"It isn't necessary. My husband wouldn't want that. We're doing quite fine." I'm sure she thinks she's taking some kind of weight off of my shoulders but it only adds to the guilt that's eating away at my insides. 

"I um," I can't think of anything to say. "Just let me no whenever is good. So that I can have him here." The words are clumsy and not well thought out at all, but she smiles anyway. Before she leaves she pulls me into a hug and we trade mobiles. I share an awkward hug with Severin and then they are on their way out leaving me paralyzed and light-headed. I begin to wonder if it was all just some kind of dream and that it hadn't happened at all. Coming to, I realise that the bee documentary is still playing in the background and you and Hamish are not watching it.

Reluctantly I climb the stairs. I reach the door of Hamish's room. I knock uncharacteristically taking in a deep breath before opening the door. You're sitting on the small bed with the boy all wrapped up in your arms. Your head is buried in his shoulder. The two of you look up at me and I see that Hamish has tears in his eyes.

"Are you and Daddy getting a divorce?" he asks me. I want to answer him, 'no of course not', but there is a look on your face that I cannot read and I am afraid that you just might leave me.


	6. I will wait for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock attempts to cope with the news of John's other son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's POV.
> 
> Decided not to leave you all hanging.
> 
> I actually have pretty big plans for this fic now.
> 
> Enjoy the ride.
> 
> Feel free to comment on what you might like to see more of in later chapters.
> 
> Surprisingly enough the song that Sherlock is remembering in this chapter is "Not Alone" by Darren Criss as featured in A Very Potter Musical. Uncharacteristic of him I know but I love it so deal.

I snapped out of my temporary haze of self-pity to finally address the question I knew was burning at your heart. "No, of course not. I love your papa with all my heart. I would never leave him," I say. I want to keep comforting you but you look so pale. I set you down on the bed and rise to get you a glass of water. As I exit your papa raises a hand to my cheek but I turn away. I simply am not ready. I feel like my heart is ripping in two. Down the stairs the documentary we were so peacefully watching before this ordeal is still going. I stare at the screen for awhile trying to reabsorb the moment. The tranquility that I cannot get back. My stomach is turning with fear, anticipation. I wonder what he's saying to you up there, if he's said anything. I would never leave him Hamish, but god I'm so hurt.

I understand that it is unrealistic to believe that he didn't date anyone while I was away all of those years, but never had I ever imagined that he had gone out and made a child with someone. I think about the struggle we had to endure to have you, and then suddenly there is a child of his own flesh and blood standing in the doorway of our flat, so simple and easy. A pang of guilt tears at my being as I realise how much I resent him for it. He's a child. He did not ask to be conceived by two strangers. Why do I dislike him so much? Why do I see him as nothing more but an allegory for every moment that John has doubted me? It doesn't make any sense. I go to the cabinet to retrieve a glass. I instinctively reach for the whiskey before the purpose of the glass reaches me once more. I turn on the faucet and the water runs into the glass. Lost in my own insecurities it overflows for awhile. 

I tread up the stairs with glass in hand. I'm waiting outside your bedroom door. Just listening to your father make empty explanations. "You see babies are not always made from love. Sometimes they are just happy accidents between two people. I have only ever loved your Daddy. You know that," he says to you. You look utterly lost. I finally step in and hand you the glass. You take a large gulp of the water, breathing steadily through your nose. I frown at John for a moment and though his face is straight his eyes read desperation. He has only ever loved me, somehow I just can't imagine that that could be true. I begin to believe that this is something that he has said for your sake. 

You curl up against him and I am sitting at your other side running my fingers through your hair. We are all silent for a very long time. I know there must be a billion questions buzzing loudly beneath your calming exterior but you do not ask them. There are at least a hundred things I think I could say but I don't. I won't break this minute calm for anything. 

It's dark outside and John is singing to you. Your eyelids are heavy. It has probably been hours since Mary and Severin were here. You fall asleep there, curled in your covers with your thumb in your mouth. This isn't a vice we typically allow you, but given the circumstances we let you indulge. 

I am the first to leave you there, fast asleep. I trudge down the stairs and stand at the end of them uselessly staring at the wooden floor. Though I haven't, my throat hurts as though I have been sobbing for hours. I press the heels of my hands to my eyes just relishing the darkness they create. Every muscle in my body aches. I hear those familiar footsteps behind me and I briskly move to the opposite side of the room, nearing the kitchen. I turn around and your papa is at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes wet with tears he won't let fall. He takes a deep breath before coming closer.

"I really am sorry," he says. He's barely looking at me.

"You don't have to. It's okay John. It's okay," I repeat for good measure. I know he doesn't believe me. I'm not sure if I believe me.

He looks down for a moment before eyeing the door, then me. "Look, I think I'll just stay at Harry's for awhile so you can just think."

"No," I blurt out gripping his arm as though I fear he may dissipate at this very moment. He looks at me like I've spoken another language. He begins to pull away but I grab him by the hip with one hand, holding his shoulder tightly with the other. "You're not alone. You're here with me. Nothing can keep me from loving you. It...it doesn't matter." Half of the way I'm singing and god I have no idea what I'm doing or where I've heard these words before or why I'm swaying with him in some kind of improved dance. Now it's as though he's looking at a ghost. I pray for better words. I just barely find them.

"I pretended to die and then I came back and when I came back you didn't want me. You didn't want anything to do with me. I stayed here in this flat and I was so alone." It's a decent start, but I'm not sure where I'm going with it. "I gave you time. I waited for you. I waited for something that I wasn't sure would ever come. I waited for you to forgive me and that killed me each and every day." I pause to take a breath. Every word is an ounce of truth I never bothered John with and it's so painful to let it out of my mouth. "I never, ever want to put you through that. I never want to put Hamish through that, so with all gravity, I forgive you. With everything I am I forgive you. You have to understand that, however long it takes to treat this like it's normal, I forgive you right now, forever."

"Sherlock I can't expect you to-"

I don't let him finish. "Do you remember our vows John? Our vows yes? John I don't want this. I don't want to spend another second out of your sight. I don't want you sleeping at your sisters or on the couch. I want you in our bed with me. I want to wake up next to you just as heartbroken as the day before and I want to talk to you okay? I don't want us to be apart and come to our own conclusions about how we are going to live with this, I want us to reach a single conclusion together. I want to talk about it every hour of everyday until it's all fine. I want to take Hamish and Severin out to the park with you and hold your hand and I want you to stay John. Stay tonight. Stay forever. That is what I signed on for, what we signed on for and before you say anything it's about more than some stupid contract we signed, it's about everything I have wanted and will ever want no matter what comes up. It doesn't ever matter how badly either of us hurt each other. John I want you here!" I finish my ranting realising that I haven't been breathing anything but sobs. "Please John. Please just don't go to your sisters. Please John just stay and be my husband and Hamish's dad and you can be Severin's father too and I don't care just so long as you stay dammit." 

I pull John close to me and bury my face in his shoulder. My hands are gripping at the back of his jumper. I feel awfully childish like this but I don't care. I care about keeping John here with us Hamish. I told you I would never leave your father and I will be damned if I let him leave me because he's feeling a little guilty. God knows I have put him through far worse than having him discover that I have a secret illegitimate child. He's kissing at my neck now, wet with tears. He's whispering to me but I'm not really listening. All is drowned out over the sound of our embrace, telling me that, yes he promises he will stay. I pull his face up in my hands and kiss him firmly, chastely on the lips a few times. 

I pull him into our bedroom and lay him down on the bed. I pull myself to his chest and lay my head there listening to his heartbeat. I don't risk a look up at his face. I'm sure couldn't handle it right now. I would only ache with deep and heavy sorrow. I say it to myself over and over in my head. 'I forgive you John. I forgive you. I forgive you.' And God help me I do, because what else am I supposed to do?


	7. John and Severin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John spends quality time with Severin for the first time. He's rather nervous about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV. 
> 
> Next couple of chapters will be a series of bonding experiences between Severin and other characters.
> 
> Conflict will ensue in later chapters.
> 
> Feel free to leave comments in such. I love hearing constructive criticisms and ideas from fellow writers. :D

I was cleaning the flat rather obsessively when the the terrifying tiny fist came rapping at the door. I clear my throat and work up the nerve to actually answer it. Today is my first day with Severin. You are out on a case with Lestrade and because I wanted to get some one-on-one time with my newly-discovered son, Hamish is spending the day with Mycroft. The flat is empty and immaculate. I let Severin in and he looks upon it as though it's the first time he's seen it. I'm sure it looks different now, that or he's just avoiding looking me in the eye. I close the door after him and swallow the lump caught in my throat. 

"Hey there," I say breaking the short-lived silence. I pat myself on the back for not adding the obligatory 'sport' at the end of the remark to seal this awkward father-son endeavor. He takes a seat at the kitchen table and folds his hands together, smiling wordlessly. What is the etiquette in these situations? "Can I get you anything?" I ask.

"Tea. Two sugars please," he answers flatly. I go to put the kettle on. He's tapping his fingers against the wood and his lips are pressed tightly together, they way mine do. I take a moment to contemplate how similarities like this develop between fathers and sons that aren't in each other's lives. I sit at the table across from him as the water reaches a slow boil. For awhile it is just the two of us staring at one another. "You and your husband solve mysteries right?" he begins the game of questions.

"Yes," I tell him. "Well, I'm a doctor by trade, but sometimes I help him. He's a consulting detective."

"Mum's shown me a few of your blog posts. The one's she thought was appropriate," he tells me. "He puts himself in an awful lot of danger eh?"

"Well, not much since Hamish was born," I defend you like I do with everyone else. Severin smiles innocently. Of course he didn't mean anything by it. He was just a kid that was interested in your job, the way children ask coppers if they've ever had to shoot anyone.

"What sort of Doctor are you?" he changes the subject.

"I work in the surgery. Mostly trauma cases. Things I picked up from the army," I tell him. He looks interested at that.

"What was the army like?" he asks.

"Never a dull moment. Always new cases to work on. Rather scary to be perfectly honest," I find I'm staring off into space as I blabber on about the old days. Talking about the more interesting explosive injuries and the friends I made. I am trying both not to glorify military service or paint it as a horrific experience. Each story is a push and pull between the two, as though I am laying out a pros and cons list. "I'm really glad to be home, just working at an ordinary job, looking after Hamish," I conclude.

"How old is Hamish? He must be at least four."

"Five actually." The kettle sings releasing me from the tension. I pour him a cuppa, placing two sugars in as requested and stirring. "What about you?" I ask after he's taken his first sip.

"I'm ten," he answers.

"No, I know that. I mean, what school do you go to? What's your favorite subject and all that," I clarify. He looks at me, those eyes mirroring my own, he's thinking of a proper answer.

"In Japan I went to a private school for some time. I'm fluent in both Japanese and English, and I know a bit of French. Now that I'm here my Mum's signed me on to start at Tower Bridge in a few days." I nod trying to imagine where that is, and what it must be like there. "I have all sorts of classes that I like but my favorite is science. It's interesting to learn how the things around us work." A young man after your own heart Sherlock.

"Do you play at any sports?" I inquire.

"My mum doesn't think I'm quite ready, but I'd like to play rugby."

I smile then. "I used to play rugby. Good sport. Really teaches you to work as a team," I recall my secondary school days.

"Maybe you could talk to my mum about it then?" He raises an eyebrow at me, his eyes glimmering with hope.

"Maybe," I say taking another sip of tea. I don't really feel it's my place to inquire with Mary about parenting decisions. Not when I've been absent all this time.

"My step-dad has tried before. It didn't work," he kind of laughs and I wonder about his use of the term 'step-dad' rather than just 'dad,' like Mary had when she had come to visit. He seems to read it on my face the way you would. "Mum dated a few guys when I was around Hamish's age. She married Charles when I was eight. He's a nice guy. An old friend of My uncle Sebastian's. Charles is the one that came 'round to tell her how Uncle Seb died. I never got to meet him." He doesn't look very sad about it. It's rather hard to mourn someone that you never knew. "I guess Sherlock's my step-dad too now huh?" he kind of laughs at idea.

"Yeah. Looks like you've got enough dads to last you a life-time," I joke. I immediately feel stupid about it. I don't want to come across as trying to minimize my fatherly responsibilities. He doesn't seem to take it that way though.

After that I take him out to the cinema. It's an activity we can go through without necessarily having to talk. He has a bit of a taste for action-adventure films. I don't pay much attention to the movie itself. I'm mostly watching his reactions to it, trying to observe the way you would whenever we'd settle in to watch something. His eyes light up at the typical explosions, what young boy doesn't like explosions? When we exit the theatre he talks about the explosive properties of thermite and its uses in action films. He's surprisingly intelligent for his age. 

I walk him back to his mother's flat as the sun is setting. He's stepping over cracks and telling me more about all sorts of topics he's learnt in school. Things about photosynthesis, evaporation, and symbiotic relationships between animals. That seems to be one of his favorite subjects. We arrive at the door and just stand opposite each other for a moment.

"I'm really glad my mum found you John," he says pulling me into a hug.

"I'm really glad I found you too."


	8. Playdate: Hamish and Severin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamish and Severin have their first ever playdate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamish's POV. 
> 
> Fun adorableness. 
> 
> Enjoy.

Hello! It's me again! Hamish Holmes-Watson.Two weeks ago I met my big brother Severin for the very first time. I think I would have met him earlier, except he is older than I am and for most of his life he lived very far away. You see, a long time ago, Papa was travelling after Daddy fell and had to go away for awhile and he met a nice lady named Mrs. Morstan. Except back then she was called Ms. Moran because that was before she got married and changed her name because that's what married people do sometimes. Anyway, after my Papa left to come back to England, Mrs. Morstan found out that she was having a baby boy named Severin (that's my older brother!) Mrs. Morstan couldn't tell my Papa though because she didn't know where he lived so she couldn't send him a letter, and she didn't know his telephone or email either. After a while Mrs. Morstan got married to Mr. Morstan and they moved to London, so she found Papa's address and came to come visit. It was all pretty confusing for everyone at first, but Severin has been over a couple times now and everyone is getting used to this new family arrangement.

Today was the day Severin came over and we played in my room. I never got to spend much alone time with him before so today was really neat.

Here are somethings I observed about Severin today:

Severin started at Tower Bridge recently and his uniform is new.

Severin is ten years old but thinks he is very grown up. He told me that playing with stuffed animals was very babyish but agreed to play with them anyway. He's very nice.

Severin only calls our Papa, John, because he still doesn't know him that well and I guess it's hard to start calling someone your dad when you've just met them.

Severin's step-dad is not always nice to him. I saw a disciplinary letter in his school folder and noticed that he had his mum sign it, probably because he was too scared to let his step-dad see it.

I found out lots of other stuff too, but now I'm going to talk about exactly what happened. 

Severin's school gets out later than mine does because he is in a higher grade than I am so he showed up after I had already had my after-school snack. I started on my homework and he sat at the kitchen table across from me to do his. That's when I noticed the disciplinary note in his folder. He quickly hid it with other papers and I didn't say anything because I didn't want to get Severin into any trouble with Papa if he had already talked about it with his mum. I was doing maths with Daddy's help and Severin was doing higher level maths. At one point he showed me this cool thing one of his teachers back in Japan taught him to make subtracting large numbers easier. Severin is very smart. Even though he got a disciplinary notice in school today, his marks are really good, especially in maths and sciences. 

After we were done doing our homework we were excused from the table so that we could go and play. I brought him up to my room so that I could show him all of the cool toys that my dads got me and maybe play cluedo with him. He seemed very interested in the wallpaper, it was all covered in stars and distant planets. He pointed to one and told me that it was called Saturn and that the rings around it were made of ice and dust. He knows a lot about space, just like Papa.

He eyed my bookshelf almost like he was deducing things from me from them. His eyebrows knitted together as he pulled out a dusty tome, a complete set of The Chronicles Of Narnia, before pushing it back between the rest of the books. 

"So why'd you get in trouble?" I finally asked him out of curiosity even though I'm sure it was probably impolite. He didn't look annoyed though.

"I hit a kid," he said flatly. He wasn't sorry so he didn't think he had done anything wrong.

"Why? I mean, what did he do?" I asked. I wasn't about to tell him that hitting was bad, even though it was. I didn't want him getting upset with me.

"He called me a terrible name," he told me. He didn't want to disclose the name. Must have been a curse word or something otherwise derogatory for him to not wish to repeat it to someone that wouldn't get him in trouble for it. He may have thought I was too young to hear it. 

I smiled at him and put a hand on his shoulder. "You should have just called him a mean name back or walked away. That's what my Daddy says."

"Yeah I know. It just really bothered me. It's not right to call people something like that. Your fathers are nice blokes..." he kind of mumbled that last part. I understood then that the insult was about boys who liked other boys.

"That boy just thinks that there are rules that aren't really there," I told him remembering the conversation with Papa and Daddy. "A boy named Timothy at my school thought that boys weren't allowed to dance but Papa and Daddy say that boys and girls can do whatever makes them happy and can marry whoever makes them happy."

"Yeah. I know."

"He was just confused. He's not as smart as you Sev." He kind of smiled at the new nick name. I decided I would change the subject. I picked up a stuffed bear from my bed and handed it to him. "This is Mr. Benjamin," I told him. "He's the bravest of my animals." 

He sort of grimaced. "It's a bit babyish to have stuffed animals don't you think?" he asked. 

I shook my head. Sometimes Papa borrowed them to demonstrate to Daddy how he could have been more polite that day, so they couldn't be babyish. Daddy didn't appreciate those demonstrations of course and also found them babyish but I think we both learned a lot about being polite from them. Sometimes in the demonstrations Mr. Benjamin would pretend to be Uncle Greg. He starred in a lot of the demonstrations because Daddy and Uncle Greg have to work together. I picked up my favorite stuffed animal (a bunny) and held it out in front of me. "This is Little Chops," I said.

"What kind of a name is Little Chops? Where did you get that?" Severin asked with his eyebrow raised.

"I dunno," I admitted. "He was always Little Chops. He likes carrots and is the best runner." I felt a little embarrassed. Sev just smiled and started playing a game with Mr. Benjamin and Little Chops in which they ran away from home to have adventures and save the world. It was a rather short-lived game though as we couldn't stop laughing over the silly names we'd applied to the villains. 

We played a game of Cluedo which I inevitably won and he congratulated me. Sev clearly doesn't have a problem with losing at small games. For awhile we sat and he told me about Japan and all of the friends he used to have and how strange the food was. It was all interesting. I was glad Sev moved to London, he didn't seem to fit in very well with the Japanese culture, also it meant that my big brother could come over and teach me things about space and make things better when they weren't good. Like when I fell off the bed.

I fell of the bed and hit my knee on the wood floor. A large bruise started forming under my skin and I could feel a sob rising in my chest when he hurried to my side. "Don't cry," he said. "Please don't cry. It's okay." He left a small kiss on my knee and hugged me close to him. "It's alright. Hey, what's your favorite thing in the whole world?" he asked me.

"Strawberry lollies," I told him unsure of what he meant to gain from such information. It reminded me of that movie with Julie Andrews where she sings during that thunderstorm about the things she likes.

"I get an allowance every week for doing chores," he said "I'll make sure to pick some up for you at the small shop by my school next time I come by." He smiled at me and I could feel the pain in my leg subsiding. 

I hugged him extra tight. "I love you Sev," I said.

He looked kind of nervous then. "Yeah. I love you too kid."

After that he had to go home because his mum came to get him. He gave me another hug before he left and ruffled my hair.

Severin is the best big brother in the world.


	9. Family Outings: Mycroft, Severin, and Hamish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft takes his nephews on an outing in hopes to get to know Severin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEVERIN'S POV NOW! <3 
> 
> sorry, I'm just rather excited to work with his POV. :D
> 
> Brotherly awesomeness. Do enjoy.

I was under the impression that I wasn't going to be returning to John's for another week today when school let out. I went outside to wait for my mum to come pick me up as usual when a rather posh looking black car pulled up. I wouldn't have payed it any mind if it wasn't the tiny figure that flung itself out of the back passenger door. 

"SEV!" the tiny brunette screams out as he flings himself at me, wrapping his little arms around my neck. I blush and look around to make sure no one sees the two of us. I get teased enough around here for being the new kid. I can see that idiot Andrew smirking at me before walking away with his mum. I know I'm going to get it bad at school next week. I'm just glad I have the weekend to avoid him. If I have to watch him sneer at me and call me a faggot one more time I may very well lose it and get myself arrested.

"Hamish what on earth are you doing at my school?" I ask him trying to push him away as gently as possible. A tall ginger-brunette man steps out of the passenger door of the vehicle and smiles at me. 

He walks over to me and extends a hand to me to shake. Timidly I take it. "Mycroft Holmes. So pleased to finally be meeting you Mr. Moran," he greets me. A Holmes. He must be Sherlock's brother or something.

"That's Uncle Mycroft! He brought me here so that we could go to the museum together!" Hamish is bouncing excitedly now but I'm still rather unsure about the situation. 

"I assure you that I've called your mother and gotten express permission from her," the tall man says. "I'd like to get to know my nephew." I tilt my head rather confused.

"I'm really just John's son..." I try to explain.

"Family is incredibly important to me. John is my family therefore you are my family. Hamish here is absolutely crazy about you too. He practically insisted that you tag along on our little outing."

Hamish takes the opportunity to innocently smile up at me and hold my hand. I can't really risk any further embarrassment so I nod and join Hamish in the back seat of the car. The seats are black leather and behind the wheel is a rather pretty brunette girl who's putting her phone in the cup-holder. She smiles back at the two of us and introduces her as Anthea. I look to Hamish thinking he's going to introduce her as his aunt but he just shakes his head.

"My husband the detective inspector is presently at work," Mycroft explains without looking back at either of us. I'm beginning to wonder if being a Holmes makes you some kind of gay psychic, though the correlation in sexuality is yet to be seen in Hamish, not that it would bother or surprise me if he was gay. I'm trying to stop thinking about it lest Mycroft somehow hear my thoughts and intervene.

We pull up a small low-key museum and Hamish rushes us off to see an exhibit on space, while Mycroft follows coolly behind. He is really too calm for my tastes but it was nice of him to take the kid and I on an outing. Hamish's eyes are all big and excited as the tape we both have in our hands goes on to describe the simple mechanics of the solar system. We get a look at a rather new section dedicated to photographed findings by the Mars Rover. I try to wander to go look at the sea life exhibit but Hamish won't let go of my hand. He insists that it is so we won't get lost from one another. Kind of like an otter I think to myself. 

After the museum we go to a place that sells ice cream with a small fountain at the front. Mycroft gives us two coins to make a wish. Hamish closes his little golden eyes tight tossing the coin over his shoulder. It lands in the water with a satisfying plunk and he looks up at me expectantly. I close my eyes and toss the coin. I wish for school to get easier than it is now. A voice in the very back of my head wishes for Andrew Farley to die. I push it away and go to the counter to order a chocolate ice cream cone. Hamish orders strawberry as expected. 

While we eat our ice cream Mycroft goes on about how unreasonable Sherlock can be and he asks how we're getting along. I tell him that we've started to talk and he seems really nice, which seems to surprise him. We start taking a leisurely stroll around the block in a rather aimless fashion. Hamish holds his ice cream in one hand and my hand in the other. I worry that we look awkward and try to pull away now and again but he doesn't loosen his grip. He looks rather happy with himself for managing to get me in on the outing and far be it from me to disappoint him. I care for him too much. How has it managed to be this much easier to bond with the little one than with my father?

As we're walking it begins to rain and Mycroft opens a large black umbrella that covers all of our heads. "Uncle Myc always carries a brolly," Hamish tells me. "He says it's always cloudy in London so there is no way to know if it will rain." Hamish looks proud as he takes another indulgent lick of his ice cream cone. Suddenly he steps on one of his undone shoe laces and falls onto the concrete. I rush down beside him before he has a chance to cry. His shirt is covered with strawberry ice cream and he's still holding the dripping and empty cone in his hand. His eyes water as he chokes on the words he cannot find. 

"Shh. Shh," I tell him helping him onto his bum and kissing the offended knee. "It's okay. It was just a fall. Your shoe laces are untied. Do you know how to tie your shoes?" I ask him. He shakes his head 'no'. I smile at him in an attempt to be comforting and hand him my ice cream hand to hold. I take both of his shoe laces in my hands and tell him to take a look as I pull them tight. "You see first you cross them, then one goes under the other one and into the rabbit hole, like where Little Chops lives," he giggles at the reference we share. "Then you pull them tight and make bunny ears," he giggles again "then you cross them and one goes into the bunny hole again. And pull, and they're tied!" He was absolutely thrilled at the demonstration. 

"You're so smart!" he shouts leaning forward to kiss me on the cheek but I pull away. I stand to help him up and the enigmatic man that stands taller than us looks down and gives us the most earnest look I've seen on him. 

"You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age," he says. "Just the way you take care of Hamish. Reminds me of Sherlock." It's weird to think of the Holmses as children. Seems impossible that they were ever anything but tall, mysterious men.

"C'mon Hamish. We should really get you home so you can get cleaned up," I say looking up at Mycroft. It is getting rather late after all. He smiles and we walk back to the car. Uncle Mycroft isn't so bad. He seems to understand me a lot better than Sherlock. 

I get dropped off at my flat first and leave Hamish to finish my chocolate ice cream cone. He smiles and waves goodbye at me through the window until he's completely out of my sight. I touch my chest as a feeling of wholeness reaches me. My family is ever expanding, and though there were so many nights where I convinced myself that my mum was all I needed and that finding my real father would only ever make me sad and disappointed, it is so utterly untrue. I'm so happy to have whatever this is. I am so much less alone.


	10. Irresistible Encounters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock really really does forgive John.
> 
> Mycroft never forgets why he fell in love with Greg in the first place.
> 
> Molly is getting really really serious with Ms. Amanda Reilly.
> 
> Charles only wants to relieve Mary of her responsible nature.
> 
> And a certain someone is all alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to take a break from my planned plot to do some smut that gives us more insight into our characters relationships with one another. 
> 
> Apologies in advance as heterosexual smut is not my forte. I'm not even sure why I decided to include Charles and Mary.
> 
> Also sorry for the heresy. I have a bit of a priest kink myself. ;)
> 
> All french translations are from Google Translate, I apologize if they sound strange to a native.
> 
> Plot will continue afterwards. :)
> 
> Feel free to comment.

-Sherlock and John-

Hamish has already made it safely to school and we are back at the flat when I feel you snake those deliciously muscled arms around me. I gasp as your lips meet the juncture of my neck ever so slightly, like they are hardly there. The letters adorning the reading in my lap become a pointless blur as I stifle a moan. That clever tongue licks a stripe up and down and the pages crinkle under my fingers as I grip for purchase. Since we've had time to adjust to your son with Mary being around you've gotten bolder in your affections with me, but we haven't been entirely intimate since then. It's uncommon for you to go this long without mentioning the act with those pleading eyes and that monster pressing desperately at your jeans. I melt back into your chest almost instinctively as you whisper something sweet against my ear. One of my hands snakes up into your short blond hair to pull you closer to my neck. Time has stricken me with unbearable need.

You get the message and practically jump over the back of the couch onto the cushion beside me. I can't help but let out a heady chuckle as you take my shoulders in your hands and lay me down underneath you, pressing brief, chaste kisses to my lips. I throw the crumpled paper-back onto the coffee table in favor of exploring the smooth landscape beneath your jumper. I inhale you to the fullest as you lean into a wetter, more passionate kiss. How I missed being this close to you John. Your tongue grazes my lower lip and I gladly let you enter and explore the confines of my mouth. The silky wet muscle wraps diligently around my own and massages my taste buds. You taste like camomile and blueberries. I moan into your mouth and your fingers work at the buttons of my shirt. Your crotch is grinding into my own when you cease doing those marvelous things with your tongue and pull my lip back between your teeth, releasing them with a satisfying snap. I sigh breathlessly into the thick morning air.

You're beaming. There's a smirk spread wide across your face when you drink me in with those dark, dilated pupils. Your lips are swollen red and I press forward to get another taste of you but you pull away from me with a tsk, in favor of attacking my exposed throat with that ravenous mouth. My head arches back onto the arm of the sofa and I grip at your chest hair causing you to growl slightly in pain. You pull away from your love bite to pull your white woolen jumper over your head and toss it atop my paper-back book on the coffee table. I take a moment to shrug out of my shirt and suddenly you're all over me again. Your hands are planted firmly at my sides, your lapping pointedly at my right nipple and my hand grips at the hair atop your hair again. I grind helplessly against your hardness, keening for more friction. Every sensation you provide lights every nerve-ending on my body on fire. Sinapses are jolting at tenfold their average speed, my brain is soaking in endorphines, dopamine, and other pleasure based chemicals. The act of needing you is better than any street drug.

Your teeth pull my nipple into a sharp peak before working on the other one. "Captain Watson your mouth is absolutely /sinful/" I purr playing at a little kink of yours. It is the first thing any of us has said for the entirety of the encounter. Your neck flushes a beautiful vermilion and it strikes you that I will not be fighting fair. I watch your delicate spine shudder as you reassert your control by biting a sharp purple bruise into my chest. "God," I gasp out. 

You sit up and palm my erection through my trousers heavily with your hand. "Father forgive me," you whisper already looking rather debauched, your hair all ruffled by my gripping fingers and your lips swollen from heady kissing. You stood calmly to undo your fly and pull down your trousers with your pants kicking them aside in a messy pool of denim before climbing on top of me, caging my body with your arms and legs. You force me into another take-no-prisoners kiss that practically bruises my mouth and my own hands fumble to give my throbbing cock release from their confines. You slap my hand away and remove the clothing from me with only your teeth. My eyes blow wide with excitement as they pool around my knees. You kiss your way up my thighs before stopping so teasingly at the base of my arousal. Everything is spinning rapidly. I can hardly register it all in time for your tongue to dart out for a quick taste of me.

"Mmm. Confess to me," I hum looking down into those innocent eyes. You smile as you lick precisely up the underside of my pointed erection.

"I have hurt someone I love dearly through past transgressions. I have attempted every conceivable thing to atone but I have lusted for this person through every single phase of our detachment. I have dreamt of how I would make love to him when we finally made up. How I would fuck him into eternity until he forgot that I could ever do any wrong," you admit breathily on my sensitive skin. You finally take my head between your lips and I shiver beneath you. You hold my hips firmly to keep me under control because god knows I just want to thrust myself fully into that velvety throat of yours and not cease until I'm absolutely spent on you. 

"Mm. Say your prayers," I finally manage as you slide halfway down my cock.

You pull away. "I can't very well do that when I'm sucking you now can I?" you reason but I'm too frustrated and too lost to put up with you.

"Then get the lube and finger me!" I snap impatiently. You smirk and raise an eyebrow. Rather than getting up you lower yourself to the base of my cock, licking it lightly before working further down.

"Our God who art in heaven," you breathe at my entrance before licking a small circle at the puckered skin there "hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come," you whisper rife with innuendo as you plunge that slick muscle just nearly inside me. I writhe at the smooth insertion and the overall dirtiness of it. You don't care though. You wriggle your tongue opening me as you go before pulling away leaving me whimpering. "Thy will be done. On earth," you lap at me again "as it is in heaven." You make me wet with your hot saliva, pushing farther, moving languidly against my wall before pulling away again for prayer. "Give us this day," lick "our daily bread "some sort of suck at my arse cheek mid-insertion, "and forgive us our trespasses," Oh God whatever the hell you did that's soooo good, "as we forgive those who trespass against us..."

"God! Please John just fuck me!" I beg arching upward pulling your glorious mouth from me. The look on your face is nothing but smugness. Regardless of how sure I am you'd like to keep teasing me you sit up on your knees and take a moment to smoothly scissor open my already needing entrance with my fingers.

"Lead us not into temptation," it almost sounds like you're scolding me, "but deliver us from evil." The first thrust is agonizingly slow but so worth the waiting. 

"Amen," I gasp out.

\------------------------------

-Greg and Mycroft-

I hang up with the French Ambassador and breathe a heavy sigh, eyeing the paperwork yet to be done. It's been a stressful day so far between scheduling mishaps and Anthea being particularly insubordinate today and all I want to do is get home, strip off this terribly uncomfortable suit, and sit in front of the fire with my head in your lap. I'd give anything to be enjoying a cuppa with you while you babble on about one of your dead-end cases or some media reference you find humorous that I can fail to understand. Any form of contact with you right now would be welcomed whole-heartedly. My intercom buzzes annoyingly.

"Mr. Holmes there is someone here to speak with you" Anthea barks over the speaker.

I rub my temples and examine my book of appointments. "I don't have an appointment for right now. Who could it possibly be?" I reply.

"Who do you think?" she huffs and the intercom turns off. I'm growing increasingly tired of her attitude lately.

A light knock raps at the wood of my office door before being timidly pushed open. From behind it you shoot me a small grin. "Hey sweetie," you sing in that magnificent brogue of yours. I instantly perk up, sitting up straight at my desk. I'm pleased that simply wishing for you seems to have made you materialize. 

"Lestrade, do come in," I banter smiling like a fool. You close the door behind you locking it. I swallow hard on the implications as you saunter across the office shrugging the jacket off your shoulders, leaving it on carelessly on the floor. You loosen the knot on your tie until the loop is wide enough to fit over your head. You walk around my desk until you're standing in front of me, leaning nonchalantly against my mahogany desk. With those coarse fingers you slowly unbutton your shirt until our entire silvery chest is exposed to me. I moan wantonly at the sight.

You lick your lips before finally addressing my eyes with your own. "I hope you don't mind but I've come here on a very personal matter."

"Not at all," I groan reaching a hand out to touch you but you don't let me. I'm not pleased.

"Shh. Shh. It's okay Sir. I'm here to take care of you," you whisper leaning in, holding the arms of my chair. I smile up at you and you land a soft, sloppy, open mouthed kiss. My tongue is automatically stretching out to taste your mouth, to search it for everything it has to give. You've been smoking today but I cannot stand to reprimand you right now. One of your hands cups my face gently, lovingly and the other is palming my growing erection through my trousers. I steady myself with a hand on your bare chest. God I love that chest. I love the shining silver hair there and the steady thrum of your heartbeat. 

Your mouth moves smoothly from my mouth to the long column of my throat leaving a trail of warm saliva in its wake. You suck and nip at the flesh there making me clutch at the arms of my chair and groan. Your hand tugs at my fully erect cock through my clothing. "Oh yes," I moan embarrassingly loud. I can feel you smirking at my jawline. You press both your hands firmly against my sides, pushing in your fingers slightly, making me jump in my seat. You lower yourself onto your knees between my legs. Oh god really? Is this really happening to me?

You unbuckle my belt and slide it from the loops holding it, tossing it to the side. One hand undoes my fly and the other is still palming at me. I'm quivering with anticipation, never knowing this was exactly what I needed today, but knowing it right here and now. You pull my trousers down and breathe hotly over my clothed length before pulling my erection free through the slit in my boxers. You look up at me and wink and I positively melt. My posture must be atrocious but I could not care less. 

You lick a long stripe up my shaft. "Dieu!"[God!] I shriek out utterly lost in the language of previous conversations. You smirk up at me and I remember how much you love it when I fall apart into fragments of other languages in bed, so I allow it. I grip your lush hair between my fingers and your stubble brushes my thigh in a tingling sensation just before you encase the tip of my cock with your plump pink lips causing me to cry out. You flick your tongue over my glans and tug my foreskin downward with a hand. "Ohhh oui Lestrade. Juste la."[Oh Yes! Lestrade! Right there!] I whisper as you plunge halfway down. You stay there for awhile circling that tongue enticingly around me. I can't get enough of the look in your eyes. Those brown orbs don't leave me as you bob excruciatingly slowly up and down. 

Finally you swallow down my entire length. "Tellement incroyable," [so incredible.] I sigh clutching the silver strands scratching lightly at your scalp. I can feel my toes curling in my shoes. You're humming now as you work up from my base to my tip again and again and I try to focus through the haze. Is that...God save the queen? "Oh mon dieu que c'est chaud. Vous êtes la salope du gouvernement."[Oh my god! That is hot! You are the government's bitch.] You cup my balls through the fabric and toy with them as you continue to suck me off, humming with national morale, never missing a beat.

\---------------------------

-Molly and Amanda-

Amanda storms through the door of my flat after a rather rough day at the primary, tossing her set of keys, including one to my flat, onto the banister before screaming into her hands. I rush quickly from the kitchen to greet her. She looks at me with sad eyes. "What's wrong sweetie?" I ask her.

"It's just been another one of those days. School's got a real bullying problem going on," she tells me pushing those gorgeous blonde curls out of her face. I give her a look of sympathy and pull her into an embrace.

"Amongst the students or the staff?" I ask remembering how some of her colleagues often gave her a problem about her sexuality. She was usually so good at ignoring it, but sometimes I knew it really got to her. 

She tossed her bag down and looked down at it crumpled on the floor for a minute, seemingly unwilling to answer. Instead she presses me against the wall and attacks my lips with hers. That glossy pink sheen smears into my mouth giving me a taste of the strawberry flavoring she'd been wearing all day. My eyes roll back as my shoulders settle against the wall. I smooth my hands over her back as she cups my face, tangling stray strands of dirty blonde between her fingers. 

Without asking she plunged her tongue between my lips searching for mine to take her frustrations out on. I twisted my tongue around hers pulling her closer. There is so much heat in this one compact body pressed against mine, it seems physiologically impossible. Her fingers tug at the roots of my hair so as to expose my neck to her, already riddled with her possessive purple bruises. She finds an empty spot nonetheless and sucks at it with fervor causing goose-bumps to emerge everywhere on my person. I can't even fathom how she manages to arouse me so much. She licks her way down to my collar-bone and kisses that delicately. Her hands are on my waist now. How can I not manage to keep track of their location? She presses the pads of her thumbs into the fleshy part beside my hip bones and I absolutely squeal with delight as my legs turn to jelly. She takes advantage of this and sweeps me off my feet and into the bedroom with a heavy growl from low in her abdomen. 

Her eyes look absolutely primal as she throws me down onto the duvet. She straddles me instantly and tugs her shirt over her head tossing it to the side, it catches on the corner of the night stand. I can't help but stare up at her. My eyes wander upward from her smooth stomach up to those gloriously plump breasts spilling from that tight red bra. She works at unbuttoning my blouse revealing my admittedly less impressive set, but she relishes it as if I were some sort of goddess. To have your body worshiped by a goddess, can you even comprehend that? It's so very exhilarating. To glance up at this divine greek figure and to know that I am wanted by her and that I am all that she wants is positively beyond words. 

I reach behind her to unhook the offending garment, just so that I can get my mouth around those luscious pale heaps of smooth unblemished flesh. She growls leaning down into another forceful kiss, all teeth and tongue. When she's finally exposed to me I obsess over the perfect curvy orbs, gripping them tightly, teasing the nipples between my fingers. Kissing them up and down. Her hands are in my hair again, holding me up. My neck is straining but I can't stand to give a damn. I lick circles around her nipples until they are perky and pink with blood flow before coming off them with an obscene pop. She's panting and I know she really can't stand much more teasing, but God I could do this for the rest of my life. 

I press my hands firmly into her shoulders and flip her onto her back. Her eyes widen with surprise and I can't contain a small giggle at her expense. She's just so gorgeous when she's underneath me. Without further adue I unbutton her trousers and pull the zip so slowly down she's arching and keening, begging for me to get it the fuck over with. So delicious when she's vulgar. So opposite her primary school profession. I pull them down quickly exposing those milky thighs all tempting and tasty. I nip at the flesh taking my time, leaving my own little love bites. She moans wantonly and grips at my hair again.

My finger traces the damp fabric covering her sex and I groan audibly. I push the garment aside in favor of pushing my entire middle finger into her. She arches off the duvet with a loud breathy moan. "You are so wet," I tell her as if she doesn't already know, because what she doesn't understand is how incredibly turned on I am by her arousal at my most minute touches. I pump my finger in and out of her rapidly and with great force and she bucks against the hilt of my finger for better purchase moaning my name over and over. I can feel her pulse inside her, rushing with anxiety and want. I choose to pull away much to her despair. She whimpers at the loss. 

I pull her red silken panties off of her, smoothly and slowly down those creamy thighs, passed those curvacious thighs, and finally over her delicate feet. I lap at the pad of her big toe and she shudders at the contact. Sitting on my heels I stretch my arms out in front of me and plant my hands firmly on her thighs, taking a moment to massage them while drinking in the vision that is this naked muse before me. As I slide my hands up her thighs I push myself forward until I'm at eye level with her sex and look up at her suggestively. Her eyes only whisper 'yes yes yes'. With that I plunge my tongue inside of her and she lets out a gasp, pulling air into her lungs and clutching at the sheets. I hum with satisfaction as I work my tongue up and down her labia before letting it glide gingerly across her clit. She lets out a yelp then. 

Amanda is so delicious. Having her writhing beneath me calling out swears is an absolute blessing. Having her scratching at my scalp with those perfectly manicured fingernails is an indescribable mixture of pleasure and pain that sends me whirring. I couldn't care less about the name of my sexual orientation when she's like this. God who wouldn't want this? This eager minx clawing and crying out at your ministrations. It's more than I can even bear to think I deserve. "God I love you," I whisper covertly against her swollen clit as I take it between my teeth teasing it, teetering her over the edge.

With a final heavy and rapid tongue lashing at the over-sensitized little muscle she cries out in holy orgasm, "OH GOD! MOLLY I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!"

I am perfectly content in letting her think that she was the first one to say it. 

\-------------------------

-Charles and Mary-

The lazy afternoon hung high above our busied minds. He was pulling needy at the buttons of my blouse as he held me against the wall of our dimly-lit bedroom. Dirty dishes were laying forgotten in the kitchen sink in a land so far away from my mind as I was having a languid snog with my husband. I pulled at his brunette hair hoping to ease the crick in my neck from having to lean up to kiss him. He groaned into the contact pressing me harder against the dry white surface. His hands pushed and pulled at my hips as he crashed his erection against my sex at a slow but desperate pace. It was like waves.

He pushed my hands over my head and held my wrists there with one hand. He let the other hand press into the thin fabric of my bra. His fingers pinched at my nipple through the silk and I let out a breathy gasp. Everything between us felt thick and humid. He kissed me sloppily letting his tongue flick mine gently and pull away again before letting me get any real taste of him. He knew how to get me wanting more, two years as a married couple and he was such an expert on me. 

He pulls his hand away from my wrist but I keep my arms perpendicular with the wall. With his arms he hoists me up the wall and knowingly I wrap my legs around his waist. My eyes only barely catch the clock on the nightstand. "Oh no. Dammit. I've got to go pick Severin up soon."

He pushes my panties aside regardless teasing me with his tip. "Mmm...Don't worry about it. I got a friend on that." I really should protest or ask who this friend is and if I know him well, but my lust gets the better of me as he presses slowly into my tight, wet, heat.

"Oh god yes."

\-------------------------

-Alone-

A young blond boy walks out of his primary school and looks vacantly from left to right as though he is waiting for someone. A brown haired boy passes him and laughs at him and the blond shakes his fist. In the distance, just close enough to get a good look a short, dark-haired man in a westwood suit with sunglasses eyes the boy. He finds that the boy has familiar hair and a promising frame about him. He licks his lips before proceeding toward him.

"Hello there. Severin Moran? I'm a friend of your dad, Charles." He extends his hand to the confused looking blond. "Jim. Jim Moriarty," he introduces himself his eyes panging with some sort of painful nostalgia.


	11. Deals with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim stops Severin on his way home to have a chat about desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Severin's POV
> 
> The plot finally thickens.
> 
> Do apologise for the relationship Jim is attempting to impose on Severin, I assure you that it won't get very far.
> 
> Remember to comment and leave kudos if you do feel so inclined. :D

"So I saw you with that kid on Friday," that obnoxious voice chided from a distant part of the courtyard, loud enough to get the attention of every student surrounding us. I cringed. I knew this would happen come Monday the instant that Hamish wrapped his little arms around me. Here it is. Give me your worst Andrew. "That your boyfriend hmm Sev?" the brunette asked pushing past two other boys to confront me. The words wouldn't come because my mouth was dry. All I could feel was hate. I shook my head. "Oh I bet he is. You like em young huh? You're disgusting. A faggot and a pedophile." Without thinking I push him backward. He stumbles but doesn't fall and raised a challenging eyebrow at me.

"You shut up. That's my little brother you're talking about," I growl bitterly. It's a little weird to have laid claim to the boy as family after only two weeks of knowing him, but he is nothing less to me. I would do anything to keep him from knowing torture like this. I just want Andrew to stop with this. It's been going on since I was introduced to the class and it's getting boring if not persistently embarassing. It isn't fair to me or Hamish that he make these kind of accusations. I don't want this kind of talk reaching his school through siblings and cousins in the school districts. Hamish doesn't need to hear all that.

"Incest too? For shame Severin," he continues teasing "You're a real sick son-of-a-bitch. Does he cry when you touch him? Or maybe he's just a good little bitch for you because you've got him brainwashed." Everyone is staring now and I can feel myself blushing. Why is everybody looking at me like _I'm_ the criminal? Andrew is like this with everybody. Why aren't they ignoring him? Do they not realise that he's lying? God I hate Andrew and I hate everything that comes out of his stupid vulgar mouth. Kids shouldn't talk like that. Nobody should _ever_  talk like that. I throw a swift punch at him landing solidly on his cheek bone. He staggers back this time falling on his bum in the dirt.

"Don't talk about him that way! He's a good kid! It's not like that! You're the one who's disgusting," I shout at him as he struggles to get himself up. Before he can manage to retaliate I give him another swift punch to the gut. He falls holding his stomach breathlessly looking up at me. I take the opportunity to kick him in the shin while he's down. "Don't you ever talk like that again!" I shout mindlessly. Everything's a blur of flying limbs and white hot anger until I feel a set of robust arms around me, dragging me kicking and screaming away from the slightly bloodied heap that is Andrew Farley.

He smirks at me wiping the blood from his lower lip. I stand by my actions. The bastard deserved it. He's a sick evil little kid that needs to get locked away before he skins a live cat or something. Without easing his grip on me, Mr. Manford takes me down to the disciplinary office for the second time in the three weeks I've been at this school. I get sat down in a chair across from the headmaster. "I didn't do nothin' wrong. Andrew had it comin'" I mumble with my arms folded over my chest. Headmaster Peters just looks dully at me with his chin rested on his hands, his elbows on his desk.

"And why exactly did Andrew Farley deserve to get beaten to a pulp today Mr. Moran?" His eyes are always serious the way they are now. Scares the piss out of everybody that gets sent to his office. I swallow hard and try to keep looking him in the eye as I begin to tell him what had happened.

"He said terrible stuff about my little brother. That he was gay and we were dating." No. No. It's coming out all wrong. It sounds much more petty the way I retell it than it actually was. What Andrew said was unforgivable and I made it sound like stupid 'your-mother' jokes. I cleared my throat again. "More like I was abusing him really which isn't true!" I corrected hoping that it would have more of an impact on Mr. Peters. "I would never hurt Hamish. Never. I'm not a sick sadistic jerk like Andrew is." I couldn't stop myself. I could feel the tears rolling down my face. What was happening? Why couldn't I keep my composure?

Peters simply nods. He doesn't look very sympathetic. "Yes. Now tell me Mr. Moran, why on earth would Mr. Farley feel inclined to make such jokes when he is a victim of sexual abuse himself?" He automatically looks rather stunned at his own accusastion, probably realising that he shouldn't have told me that. I'm stuck on the words that had just came out of his mouth. No. Just no way! There was no way in hell that bastard was abused, not the way he talks, but maybe it did make sense. Maybe that's why he used words like that and teased others. My hate subsided into something else. I even felt a little guilty.

"He...he just did okay?" I finally say. "I don't know anything about all that stuff and I'm sorry if it's true but that doesn't mean he should go around saying stuff like that. If he's still all hurt about that he should go get help."

"I agree," Peters says finally sounding close to human. "Still, you should never react so violently. I am writing you another disciplinary note to have signed by  _both_ of your parents. Another outburst like this and I will have you suspended. Is that clear?" he asks. I just nod and take the paper all violently squiggled upon with red ink into my hands. After that I am free to return to class but by then everyone is packing up. Without speaking to anyone I stuff my belongings into my knapsack and bolt for the door.

When I'm finally outside I put a hand through my hair and try to reassemble myself. It doesn't help that when Andrew leaves with his mother he looks back at me and laughs. I shake my fist in response. ' _I bet it was your da' you big bag of dicks.'_ I think devilishly to myself. I look from left to right and then down at the watch on my wrist. Mum's running a bit later than usual. I really just want to get this whole thing over with, like ripping off a plaster.

I'm still stuck in my angry fog when I hear an unfamiliar voice. "Hey. Severin? I was sent to come get you. I'm a friend of your dad's, Charles." I stare up at the dark haired man in a suit and sunglasses standing before me. I've never met him before so I'm rather unsure about him. "Jim. Jim Moriarty," he says extending a hand for me to shake. Tenatively I take it. 

"What's my father's last name?" I ask cautiously. 

"Morstan. He's actually a colleague of mine. I knew your Uncle Sebastian too. We were friends. Well...more than friends but you don't really need to know about that yet now do you?" He smiles at me like he knows some kind of secret. I try not to think about it and start walking in the general direction of home. He follows beside me and I don't protest. Not many people know about my Uncle, he kind of stayed under the radar according to my mum so I figure this guy must be kinda close to the family.

"What was he like? My uncle I mean?" I ask out of curiousity.

Jim gets a vacant look in his eyes. "Stupid. Brilliant but oh so stupid. You know he went and got himself killed? Yeah, by a royal pain in the arse too, but that pain in the arse was the cleverest man. Well not that clever." I look down at the concrete not sure what to make of that kind of detailed response. "You know him."

"Excuse me?" I ask looking back up at the man who now had more presence to his gaze.

"You know him. The man that killed your uncle. He's married to your dad. Well your real dad." I stand still for awhile completely shocked. Sherlock? Sherlock killed my uncle Sebastian? What does this guy want me to do with this information?

"Well...Sherlock only catches criminals," I finally realise and verbalise. I'm unsure as to why I'm standing up for him, if he really did kill my uncle. But then if he did it was probably because he was a very dangerous man. It struck me that this meant Sebastian wasn't all my mother thought he was. Or was he and had she not told me? Why would she hide that from me?

"Mm. Exactly." He smiles almost like looking back upon a fond memory. There was a long silence. "You were right you know? That prick deserved to get the shit beat out of him."

I look up at him confused. "Excuse me, what?"

"That kid was talking shit about your kid brother. You had every right to kick the piss out of him. Good job on that." Disregarding how weird it is that he knows about it I kind of smile to myself rather pleased that someone agrees with me for once. "Look at you," he giggles "I bet you want him dead."

"No! No I-I don't want him to die," I stutter out remembering that almost wish at the fountain with Hamish.

"You've thought about it!" Jim teases with a light-hearted smile that convinces me that he's trying to be funny, friendly even. "You know I could make it happen."

"You're not serious," I laugh.

"Serious as death kid." His eyes turn into shiny dark stone as a frown spreads across his face.

"No. No. Don't actually- I don't want you to...Just don't worry about it okay? God," I stammer thoroughly frightened by the proposition. 

He just chuckles at me. "You know you remind me so much of Seb. Took him some convincing too. You've got his hair. Similar eyes. Mm." I try not to think to hard about how he mentioned that he and uncle Sebastian were 'more than friends.' I can see my house now and I turn to him to say goodbye. "Look kid. Stick with me and I'll make sure no one ever bothers you again. Sound good yeah?" He kisses me on the lips only briefly and before I can yell at him he turns and walks  away.


	12. Acting Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having received a second disciplinary notice from Severin's school, a concerned Mary takes Severin to John's house to discus why he may be acting out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in awhile. I've been getting some pretty good sleep.
> 
> Right now my heart and my prayers are with my homeland, Boston, and I'm writing to try and curve a panic attack.
> 
> I love each and every one of you and I wish that all of you be safe wherever you are.
> 
> Anyway, this is from John's POV

It's late Monday afternoon and we have settled into our own typical domestic silence. Hamish is on the floor of the sitting room drawing pictures while you are at the kitchen table working on an entry for an upcoming anthropomorphic taxidermy competition. I insisted that if you were going to work on such a dreadful thing where we eat dinner that you spread out newspaper and thus a happy compromise was reached. You were humming as you adjusted the tiny violin in the hands of one of the little mice you'd affixed to its mould. I never see you more peaceful than when engrossed in such meticulous work so I cannot help but to admire your dedication to the arts given your ceaselessly impressive scientific mind. I am so lost in my adoration that I almost do not notice the loud, harsh rapping at our door. You wave your hand without looking up from your work to communicate your occupation so with a roll of the eyes I go to answer it.

"Oh. Hello Mary. Severin. I wasn't expecting you this evening," I say. I notice that Mary's arms are folded in front of her chest and Severin is looking shyly down on the floor.

"We need to talk about something," she tells me. Well that sounded a bit not good. 

"Please, come in," I say gesturing inside. Severin steps in cautiously before Mary excuses him to go draw with Hamish. Hamish is happy to see him but Severin continues to look sad. "Our boy got himself into some trouble today," Mary finally speaks as I close the door behind her. Severin looks up from his place on the sitting room floor as he hears this. Mary shoots him a glare and he averts his gaze back to the paper underneath Hamish's messy pile of crayons. 

"Really?" I put my hands on my hips. "What for?"

"He beat up another kid for mocking him." She looks sternly over to him and then back at me. "This is the second time in the passed two weeks." 

I swallow a lump in my throat trying to gague exactly what it is she's saying here. "Well, I'm sure that the move has been very hard on him. It's never easy being the new kid," I finally manage. She raises a skeptical eyebrow at me but shrugs unable to argue with the logic.

"I just wanted to know how you two have been getting on. You know, it's all very knew and I was just worried," she begins but I don't let her finish.

"No. No. He's been great here. He and Hamish really get along. They're like two peas in a pod. We haven't really argued or anything. He's a great kid. I think it's just tough at his new school," I assure her. "I-if you want I could try and talk to him."

"It's okay. I'm sorry, I'm just being paranoid."

"No. You're not. You're right. It's a lot of changes all at once. I know you married Charle's just two years ago, that's something. That with the move and meeting me, must be a lot to handle all in such a short time." I frown a little wondering if so far I've managed to wreck my son's life more than anything else. 

"Careful! I can't have you knocking that over! It's incredibly flamable!" your voice interrupts from the kitchen. Tearing my eyes away from Mary I watch you as you scold Severin and Hamish for almost tipping your container of formaldehyde. 

"S-sorry," the two mutter out simultaneously before returning to the sitting room. 

"So, you know, if you could go ahead and have a talk with him..." Mary recaptures my attention. 

"Oh. Um. Sure," I say. Clearing my throat I ask Hamish to go upstairs to his room for awhile and getting the hint you excuse yourself into our bedroom, leaving Mary and I to have a talk with Severin in the sitting room. "Hey. So, Severin I heard you got yourself into a fight at school today," I begin. He nods uneasy about the topic. "So um, why don't you walk me and your mum through what happened in your own words." 

He looked confused then, as if no one had really asked him for any justification. He took a breath and begins. He tells us about how the boy he had fought with had insulted our little Hamish and accused Severin of being in an improper relationship with him. "Hamish is a good kid. I would never hurt him like that. I didn't want any of that talk getting back around to his school. I just...you know?" Severin concludes. I stare at him for awhile and then back at Mary who is starting to look sympathetic.

"That's all very fine and good. I'm really proud of you for wanting to protect Hamish. You've been a really great big brother for him but you really shouldn't have resorted to violence," I tell him sternly, though I cannot say I would not have done the same at his age, or any age really. If anyone talked about Harry like that they'd be limping off without their teeth. I shake my head to quickly pull myself together again. "You should have just told an adult and they would have intervened. Understand?"

"Yeah, you're right. I talked with the headmaster about it and he told me he'd alert my teacher so she could help. I feel bad about it now. Apparently that kid has had it pretty rough. I just wish he didn't feel the need to say those things," Severin empathized. I smiled and ruffled his sandy blond hair. 

"Glad we had this talk. Now I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you to whatever punishment your mum sees fit," I tell him and he frowns. I rethink my phrasing and try and frame it in a way that plants less of the blame on Mary. "Personally I'd have you go without video games for two weeks seeing as it is your second offense." Mary nods at that seemingly happy with my attempt to participate. Severin huffs kind of angrily but I tell him I love him before he leaves and he hugs me. 

After closing the door to our flat you come out from our bedroom without me noticing and wrap your long arms around me. Kissing me on the neck you tell me that I handled it well and that you're admittedly a little proud of Severin's actions. Slipping away from me you return to your mice and I hear  tiny feet trying to make their way back up the stairs and I chase after them.

When I get to Hamish's room he's sitting on his bed trying to look nonchalant though it is obvious that he's been eavesdropping. Knowing he's been caught out he looks at me sullenly. "I'm still going to be allowed to see Sev aren't I? It's not his fault. It's mine," tears well up in his eyes. I rush to embrace him.

"Of course he'll still come around," I tell him kissing his head "and hey, it's not your fault at all. Severin chose to address those insults with violence and he shouldn't have. He knew better."

"Yeah but that kid's been bothering him ever since he got into school. He calls him awful names and it makes Sev cry. He doesn't like to show it though but I know he does," Hamish tells me. "That boy needs to stop provoking him so much. It's really hurting Sev something awful."

"I'm really sorry to hear that. But now his teachers know and they're going to be on alert and do all they can do to help," I reassure him. "You can help too you know. You can help by being nice to Severin and making sure he knows how much you care about him." Hamish nods enthusiastically and gives me a hug.

We go downstairs and order take out to have in the sitting room. Regardless of everything I've told Hamish I am genuinely worried for Severin and if life is going to get any easier for the boy with three step-dads.

 


	13. O Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim tries to get on Severin's good side.
> 
> When honey doesn't work, he tries subtle hints at vinegar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter planned for about a month and I've been meaning to write it but in light of recent tragedies my PTSD has been acting up something awful. I apologise for the wait.
> 
> Terrible offenses against children ahead. You have been warned.
> 
> Severin's POV.

After leaving John's I was sent straight to bed. For the next few days after school, Mr. Moriarty is waiting outside to take me home. I'm not sure how Charles convinced my mum to let this go on but I don't mind it very much. Whenever Jim shows up he brings me small treats like candies and sodas. Every now and then he would offer me a cigarette and tell me stories about my late Uncle Sebastian. It's pretty clear to me that Jim was in love with Uncle Seb which doesn't bother me except for when he insists on holding my hand. I used to argue with him about it but lately I've just let it slide past entirely unmentioned. Jim's a cool guy and I'm not sure I want to lose his friendship over something so trivial. Sometimes the guy just scares me is all...

Yesterday he was going on about how he used to quarrel with Seb because he would complain about Jim putting himself in danger, but it was okay because Uncle Seb always got his shot off in time to save him. I nodded as always because I wasn't sure how to respond to the nostalgic babblings of a murderer. I mentally called into question why I kept his acquaintance and how Charles ever got tangled up in Jim. It never had really occurred to me to worry for my safety or that of my family's. As long as Charles and I stayed on good terms with the guy there was no harm right? Too late to turn back? Yeah, that must be it. Anyway so we reached the one block marker from my house where Jim would usually drop me off. I took a deep breath and braced myself for the inevitable.

You see, by then I was entirely used to Jim leaning forward to kiss me goodbye. It was just another one of his quirks. To that day I continued to protest it because it simply wasn't correct, but Jim doesn't strike me as entirely stable. It's just that they don't usually last this long. Usually it's quick, soft, and then he's gone. That time however he lingered and his lips moved against mine. I pushed him away when he tried to pry my lips open with his.

"You need to stop that okay? It's not right!" I shouted. 

"It's just a kiss Sevvy." He shrugged as though the act were as innocent as a high-five or sharing pretzels. 

"I'm just...not old enough for all that okay?" I blushed.

"For what?" His voice was calm and smooth. He wasn't offended, seemingly just curious.

"I'm not old enough to have a boyfriend or anything okay? You're a nice guy and all that but I just can't," I explained.

He shrugged again. "Okay then. If that's how you feel." He still wasn't offended. He smiled at me understandingly and put his hands in his pockets. Jim began to turn on his heel but stopped. He took his left hand out of his pocket and raised it to a chain around his neck. He then lifted a set of dog tags out of his shirt collar and pulled them over his head before handing them to me. The glossy silver read "Moran." I looked up at him and he simply smiled again. "Those were Seb's. I think you should have them." I put them over my own head and they drooped all the way to my middle. "They suit you," he said, and then he was gone. 

I ran the rest of the block to my house with the dog tags clinking together against my chest. I closed the front door to our flat shut behind me and slid down the door breathing heavily. Jim didn't seem mad, but then psychopaths in movies didn't seem mad when they were plotting murders either. I looked down at the shining engraved silver now slumping against my lap. It was a trinket. Clearly he was planning on keeping me around, right? I put my hand up to my forehead and tried to steady my breathing. I didn't want mum seeing me this upset. Charles strolled into the foyer and stopped to stare at me. Walking up to me I could see he was smiling. He pulled my new dog tags up by the chain and examined them.

"Looks like you and the boss are going steady now huh kid? First loves. So cute," he chuckled warmly before ruffling my hair. I was petrified. I went to my room and stayed there, not even coming out when mum called me down for dinner. 

That night I had nightmares about what would happened if I refused Jim a relationship. I dreamt that he held my mum hostage and threatened to kill her unless I let him kiss me again. I woke up crying feeling like I might get sick. Everything in the dark room was spinning and my head ached terribly. No matter what I did I couldn't stop my hideous sobbing. Eventually I sobbed myself back to sleep. I dreamt of watching my husband Jim slowly drift to death from liver disease, not that it mattered, my mum had already died years ago. There was no escape ever.

Morning comes. My alarm clock is buzzing angrily from my nightstand. I throw a hand over, slapping it carelessly and it shuts up. Today is Friday. I groan as I pull myself out from under my covers. Down the cold chain stuck hard and hurtful against my skin the metallic sound of dog tags hitting one another can be heard. I groan again as yesterday hits me. I suddenly don't want to go to school today. I don't want to walk out to see Jim ready to hold my hand and walk me home, this imposed boyfriend of mine. Nobody ever asked me what I wanted. They just listened and refused me. Mum knocks on my door to make sure that I'm awake. I tell her that I am and accept that I'm just going to have to buck up and go. I pull on some jeans and a shirt without really caring which one and whether it looks appropriate. My mum nods when I reach the bottom of the stairs so apparently it's all fine.

I barely push around my eggs breakfast before I throw my backpack over my shoulder and walk out the door before mum or Charles follow me out. When mum's walking beside me she points out that I've been rather moody this morning. I unconsciously touch the chain that I have tucked under my shirt and try convincing her that I'm fine. Just a little sleepy. She nods again and purses her lips looking ahead.

"Looks like a sheet of rain is coming," she says.

"Yeah," I say absentmindedly. "Mum, was Uncle Seb gay?"

She blinks looking surprised with me. "N-not that I know of. He dated women before he went into the military. When he was discharged he started working for this man and apparently they were involved but he didn't talk much about it. Wherever did you get that idea dear?" she asks.

"Just something Charles' friend said. It wasn't rude or anything. I was just wondering," I make excuses.

She frowns. "I didn't like the man he got involved with much. Seb would visit with these terrible cuts and bruises. Worried me half to death." I start to wonder if the injuries were from Jim or from Uncle Seb's dangerous work. "I'm sorry, that was silly of me to say. Just forget it dear," she tells me. I nod in agreement though it weighs heavy in my mind for the remainder of the walk. 

When we reach the school mum gives me a kiss on the cheek and waves goodbye to me as she walks away. Taking a heavy breath I walk through the doorway before the sheet of rain comes pouring down over everything. 

School proceeds to be incredibly dull. I am scolded for not having my homework finished but upon observing my anguished demeanor the teacher leaves me alone. I don't speak to my friends and barely touch my lunch before throwing it in the bin. My mind is frozen in place, wondering how this change in Jim and I's relationship is going to affect me in the future. Will he hurt me like he allegedly hurt Uncle Seb? I don't know. I'm not sure I'll ever have a choice in the matter. I grimace at the thought of those lips on mine again. I haven't noticed girls yet and I've never thought about boys that way. I'm not sure I'll ever grow into feeling any way about either of the genders, and while I know sexuality isn't a choice it would be nice to be able to express one as my own rather than having it as predetermined for me as it is now. I long to just grow up and know love on my own terms.

I'm still staring wistfully out the window when the bell signals the end of school. The ground is wet but the sky has cleared up some and the rain has stopped entirely. I blink before rubbing my lazy eyes, realising that it's the first I've blinked in some time. I pick up my bag and trudge for the door, slowly as possible, in no rush to see Jim waiting for me.

To my surprise, Jim isn't there. Perhaps he's late or he's chosen not to get me today. The latter sends a brief sensation of relief through my body. I let myself dare to hope that it won't be him who brings me home. I stare at my feet for awhile contemplating walking home by myself, but if mum's coming to pick me up I don't want to scare her. I stay still with my stomach churning, still hoping for the unlikely. 

"Hey faggot!" a child's voice attempting to sound rough calls from behind me. I don't have to turn around to know that it's Andrew but I turn anyway to politely acknowledge the bully. He stands ramrod straight in a sorry try at looking taller, his eyes bore straight into mine as he cocks an eyebrow. "Seen you walkin' with that weird man in the suit lately. That you're new boyfriend? Hmm? The kid know you been steppin' out on him?" I look down at my shoes unsure of how to answer him. To tell him that Jim and I weren't dating might be a lie, and if Jim found out he could be upset.

"I'm not seeing Hamish. I told you that," I say in surrender.

"Oh so you like 'em older now?" Andrew taunts before letting out a hearty laugh. I look up at him with rage in my eyes he stares back at me in satisfied sadism. 

It is all short-lived though as with a loud bang from afar, Andrew's cruel is expression is contorted into that of pain and fear. His hands rush to clutch his damp and scarlet side. With a shrill scream he falls to the ground and the red continues to spill fast onto the cement darkening against the wet concrete. I open my mouth but I am not sure that any sound comes out. I can hear nothing over the screams of nearby teachers and students. Adults push their children to the ground and sirens pick up in the air. My feet pound loudly on the ground as I run to Andrew's side. Everything smells of metal and my dog tags chime against the bare flesh under my shirt. I touch his arm and he is cold. His eyes look empty and lifeless but he is still sputtering breath. He's forming words. He's begging for his life and inside I am begging with him that this young life not be snuffed out after such a short and miserable existence. Andrew doesn't deserve this. No one deserves this. To suddenly be shot and to never know why is terrible enough.

I look around in a panic but there is no assailant in sight. Nothing in the air but mass panic and confusion. I know that the attack is over. I know that Andrew was the only target and that this shooting was not random. I know everything. My own breathing becomes nearly as laboured as Andrew's. I whisper an apology and his eyes widen. Before I let him ask though I dart away from him. I need to get home. I need to get back to my mum this instant, I don't care how suspicious it looks. I need to get out of there. 

With blood on my knees I run for home, ignoring the shouts from teachers demanding that I come inside as they go into lock-down. I run too fast for any of them to catch me. At times it feels as though I'm flying over several squares of pavement. I don't stop ever, not even when I feel a cramp tearing at my side. I only look down to assure myself that the strain of my muscle is not a bullet wound in and of itself. All I here are sirens and I feel like they're all coming after me. They know I know. They're going to make me talk about it. I can't talk about it. I just can't. My shoulders feel unbearably heavy with pure knowledge and responsibility. 

When I reach my house I stand there for awhile just breathing, barely breathing. My head is spinning and now I'm sure I'm going to be sick. Tears are staining the back of my eyes and I keep getting strangled by would-be sobs. I swallow them and try to keep steady on the ground. My mind races with the faces of everyone I love, everyone at risk, every string that my puppet-master boyfriend is twirling in his deft little fingers in front of me. But no. No, this was an attempt to try and get on my good side. I feel the cold metal dog tags still clamoring against my shivering chest. Those were a gesture too. Jim cares about me I think. Jim wants me to be happy. I have an upper hand here. Jim will want to keep my happy. I can just tell him to stop. A surge of courage suddenly takes the reigns. I hardly feel anything I start shouting. 

"Jim! Jim you bastard! I know you're following me! Get out here now you bloody bastard you know I told you not to do that! I'm very unhappy!" I call out to nothing. "Come on you coward! I need to talk to you!" The door to our flat opens behind me.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Charles' voice hums calmly. I turn to face him. He doesn't look shocked by the blood soaking into my jeans. 

"What?" I huff out. "Why the hell not?"

"You should just consider yourself lucky. The boss has done you a favor. That's what boyfriends do," he chuckles but I see no humor in any of it. He frowns at my silence. "Shut up and stop taking it for granted. Stop being so righteous. This is how it works got it?"

"What if I refuse?" I ask more brave than I feel. I try to think of the bear that Hamish once showed me. The bravest of them all.

A devilish grin splits Charles' face. "You mean like tell the police?" he asks. I nod. "Then I'll kill mummy," he whispers "and Hamish and John and Sherlock and then I'll run off into the sunset and you'll be an orphan." My eyes widen. I swallow the lump in my throat and on unsteady feet I walk into the flat, silently promising to stay quiet.


	14. Amateur Deductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severin demands to spend the night at John's
> 
> John becomes suspicious of his son's role in the recent primary school shooting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John's POV mostly for the sake of trying to keep some of the mystery alive until the end. ;)
> 
> Sorry lots of dialogue in this. Kinda boring but pretty important stuff.
> 
> Seriously thought about naming this chapter "Spot the Psychopath" but I thought that would be too blatant.

I'm gripping the sleeve of your dressing gown as the telly blares breaking news of a shooting at Severin's primary school. In my other hand I have my phone. I'm attempting to call Mary but she isn't picking up. I swallow a lump in my throat and tears well painfully in my eyes as I hang up for the fourth time. You take my face in my hands and look into my eyes sympathetically. You tell me it's okay. It's been two hours since the shooting and there is only one confirmed victim, a boy named Andrew Farley that's currently being rushed into surgery. The name is familiar. I recognise it from a disciplinary letter. That boy had bullied Severin at some point, but that didn't matter at the present. Hamish is a sniffling mess on the sitting room floor. He is still unconvinced that Severin is okay. You pick him up in your arms and try to shush him, petting his hair and telling him to relax or he'll make himself sick. I'm hardly breathing properly myself.

There's a hard knock at the door and I expect that it's Mrs. Hudson coming to check up on me again. You hand Hamish over to me and tell me that you'll handle it. I kiss little Hamish on the forehead as we settle into my chair. I keep repeating to him that Severin is okay and I know that I am trying to convince us both. When you answer the door you seem surprised to see Severin and Mary standing in the doorway. Severin's face is flushed and his face is sticky with dried tears, he has a knapsack slung over one shoulder. Before I have the chance to react, Hamish leaps out of my arm and bolts across the room calling for Severin before pulling him into a clearly very tight embrace. Severin smiles and pulls Hamish closer to him.

"It's okay Hamish. I'm here. I'm okay," he assures him while petting his head like you had earlier.

Mary steps into the flat and looks at me fearfully. "He demanded that I bring him here so he could spend the night. I hope it's okay," she says.

I'm rather surprised. "If it's okay with you. You sure you don't want to keep him tonight? I know it must have scared you something awful," I ask.

"Well, yes. But he was home before it even hit the news so I didn't realise he had been in any danger until he told me everything. Besides, I'm sure you were terrified." Mary frowns a little. She leans in to whisper to me. "Poor thing had blood on his clothes. He wasn't hurt though, he ran to see if the other boy was okay. I think he's still in shock. I-I just couldn't deny him you know?"

"You could stay if you like. We've got a cot," I tell her still certain that in this time of crisis she would want to be with her son.

"I'd love to really, but I was going to go and be with the other boy's mum. She's a single mother and her family lives in Scotland. She really shouldn't be alone. Besides, my son was brave enough to go to her son in his time of need. I should do the same," she says kind of proudly. She puts a hand on Severin's shoulder and he temporarily pulls away from Hamish's worried embrace. She kneels down beside him. "Severin sweetie, I'm going to go now if that's okay," she says. He nods vigorously and she pulls him into a tight hug before kissing him on his forehead. "I love you so much sweetie."

"I love you too mum. Please, tell Ms. Farley that I'm really really sorry about her son. Also could you call John and let me know if he pulls through?" he asks concerned.

"Of course dear," she smiles lovingly. She kisses him one more time and even pulls me into a hug before she leaves. You close the door behind her and breathe a tiny sigh of relief. You look at me as though still trying to reassure me of the reality. I'm still having trouble catching up to it all. All I know is that I'm relieved that Severin wasn't harmed. It's true, I could collapse from the relief.

Hamish finally manages to stop crying as Severin makes attempts at making him laugh and playing board games with him, clearly losing on purpose. You take your place on your favorite chair and I've forced you to start listening to news on the shooting on your laptop with headphones so as not to disturb the children. I've thought about starting work in the kitchen but decided to call in for pizza instead. I figure that Severin could use a treat after all he's been through. I'm surprised to find that Hamish is pulling through it alarmingly well. He seems to be beyond shock, making his primary task that of soothing Hamish and making sure that he is completely content. It begins to become unnerving but eventually I shrug it off. He's just a brave kid, I decide.

It isn't long until I catch you frowning at your screen and I find myself curious. I pop over behind you and stare at the screen. Outside of Bart's Medical Center is a vigil of probably hundreds of people holding candles and lighters. My heart drops into the pit of my stomach as I read the caption.  _One Dead In Tower Bridge Primary School Shooting._ With tears fighting for exodus I put my phone on silent before it has a chance to ring. Not tonight. 

There's a knock at the door that signals dinner. We all sit around the table with our individual plates of pizza in silence for awhile. It seems Severin is used to saying grace but you insist against it. You haven't touched your plate. Your hands are steepled under your chin as though you're thinking and you haven't taken your eyes off of Severin who is casually eating a slice of peperoni across from you at the table. I find that I ignore my plate in favour of analysing you, trying to figure out your thought process. You're eyes didn't budge and you weren't giving any tells. That is until you spoke.

"Severin, do you know who would want to hurt Andrew?" you asked. 

"No. Not really. He was pretty mean to kids sometimes but still generally well-liked," Severin answered almost expertly taking another bite of pizza.

"Mean? He used to bully you yes?" you inquire walking a fine line with me.

"Yeah, sometimes. It wasn't so bad. I felt kinda bad for him so I didn't get too mad." Well that wasn't true. At one point Severin reacted violently but I suppose he means after all that.

"Did your step-father know your Uncle Sebastian?" This question is entirely out of left-field as far as I'm concerned.

Severin flushes darkly. "Yeah. They worked together. Th-They didn't work closely or anything though," he stammers. I feel as though you've caught onto something that I haven't, something important. Severin's eyes suddenly go dark. "He's dead isn't he? Andrew?"

"Why would you say that?" you ask.

"Yeah Severin. Your mum hasn't called yet. I'm sure he's still in surgery or maybe still unconcious. That happens a lot," I fan the lie with my medical degree.

"No. Sherlock only works homicides," Severin says cocking an eyebrow. Those eyes, they just look so void of well...anything.

"That's not true. He's worked thefts and missing persons before. He handled a missing rabbit once. Worked to get some fragile information from a dangerous woman," I list trying so desperately to mask it all from this clever boy. He simply shrugs, seemingly accepting my defense. We don't speak for the duration of the meal. You and I share a couple of glances, mostly me glaring at you. 

Finally we send the boys up to bed, trusting that Severin and Hamish can share Hamish's bed for the night. I guide them up the stairs after getting their teeth brushed to make sure that they get into their pyjamas and settle in for the night. I kiss them both on the forehead and wish them sweet dreams, alerting them that they can come to get me anytime if they're afraid or experience any nightmares. Lord knows, I know what that's like. I turn off the light and leave the door cracked open just so and wait outside for a moment, just trying to breathe. That's when I hear tiny whispered voices.

"Look, Hamish I know you were really scared today but there's something I need to tell you," Severin whispers.

"What is it?" Hamish asks curiously.

"You need to know that I'm never ever going to let anything hurt you okay? Cross my heart and hope to die, I won't let anyone get to you." It's hardly audible but I piece most of it together.

"What are you talking about Sev?" Hamish squeeks. 

"There are dangerous people out there Hamish. But I swear, I will never ever let them get to you. I'll always protect you." I try and decipher exactly where he's coming from when he talks about dangerous people. Where does a little boy get these ideas? 

"Okay. I love you Sev."

"I love you too Hamish. Now you need to get some sleep. It's okay. I won't let anyone hurt you. Ever. No body." Severin yawns. Dismissing it as shock I trudge down the steps, passed the sitting room to our bedroom.

You and I settle into our bedroom and I can't fight the urge anymore.

"What the hell was all that?" I ask.

"He knows something," you almost mutter slithering underneath the covers of our bed. 

"And why would he know anything? He's just a kid. Reports show that the shot came from a distance, probably from the empty warehouse across the way." I point out in defense of my son.

"Yes I know. It just can't be unconnected. Can't be a coincidence." You toussle your hair in frustration before resting your face in your palms. 

"Exactly what can't be a coincidence?" I put my hands on my hips practiacally staring you to death. You calmly pat the bed for me to sit beside you and I obey in hopes of a thorough explanation.

"Severin's step-father knew Sebastian Moran." 

"So?"

"So, Sebastian was a part of Moriarty's web." you huff.

"What?"

"He was a sniper, practiacally Jim Moriarty's right hand man. I killed him. I killed him for you John," you nearly whisper placing your hand on mine. You won't look at me. "His step-father is a colleague of his that means I've missed something. John that boy might still be alive if I hadn't missed..." you trail off.

"You aren't saying that you think Charles Morstan killed that boy because he was bullying Sev?" I ask. You nod grimmly. "No. No we can't no that. Sherlock this is not your fault!" I assure you hoarsely. I pull you into my arms and your hands are trembling as the rest on my chest. "It's okay. I don't think that's what happened. Could be coincidence." You don't agree. "If it helps you and Lestrade could go have a word with him in the morning." You nod before laying down facing away from me. I lay down and hold your back against my chest and shower your neck in kisses. "Shh. It's alright Sherlock. You'll figure it out." 

After awhile you drift off to sleep and I watch your chest heaving forward and back in gentle motions as I stroke your beautiful head. Those curls are acting as a great comfort for me as I sit uselessly and contemplate your theories. Would Severin's step-father really do that? The way Severin talked he and Charles didn't seem that close. It just doesn't fit. I hear a rustling noise from the kitchen and I worry about one of the boys being up at this hour. Maybe one of them had a nightmare.

I get up from the bed to investigate and find Severin sitting on the kitchen floor in front of the fridge.

"Sev? It's one in the morning, what are you doing?" I ask through the darkness, physically startling the small boy.

"Wh-what? Oh, I was just getting a snack," he says nervously.

My eyes finally adjust to the darkness and I manage to observe what's in his right hand. "With a bottle of glue?" I ask thoroughly confused.

"Oh. Well...actually I was worried about Andrew. I was looking for some paper and stuff so I could make him a get well card. I thought glitter might be nice," he said finally reaching his faculties. 

"Okay..." I look at him curiously. "Go on up to bed okay? We can do that in the morning all right?" 

"Yeah okay," he says as he gets up and makes his way for the stairs, glue bottle still in hand. 

It doesn't hit me until I'm already sinking back into bed with you. Not four hours ago, Severin was convinced that Andrew Farley was dead, and now he was making him a get-well card.


End file.
